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POEMS 



OF 



THE ORIENT 



BAYARD TAYLOR 



FIFTH EDITION. 




BOSTON: 

TICKNOR AND FIELDS 



M DCCC LVI. 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year ISoi, by 

Bayaed TaTLOEj 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of ^rossaohusetts. 



STEREOTYPED AT THE 
BOSTOH STEREOTYPE FOU^Di 



CONTENTS 



PROEM DEDICATORY. 

FAOB 

An Epistle from Mount Tmolus, 7 

POEMS OF THE ORIENT. 

A Pjean to the Dawn, .... . . 15 

The Poet in the East, 19 

The Temptation op Hassan ben Khaled, ... 22 

The Arab Warrior, 39 

Arab Prayer, 41 

El Khalil, 44 

Ode to Indolence, 46 

Song, 49 

Amran's "Wooing, 50 

A Pledge to Hafiz, 69 

The Garden of Irem, 71 

The Birth of the Horse, 75 

The Wisdom of Ali, 77 

(3) 



An Oriental Idyl, 80 

The Angel of Patience, 83 

Bedouin Song 86 

Desert Hymn to the Sun, 88 

Nilotic Drinxing-Song, 92 

Camadeva, 95 

KuBiA, 97 

Kilimandjaro, 98 

Mimosa Blooms, 103 

The Birth of the Prophet, 105 

To the Nile, Ill 

Hassan to his Mare, 114 

Charmian, 117 

The Shekh, .121 

Smyrna, 123 

To a Persian Boy, 124 

The Goblet 125 

The Arab to the Palm, 130 

AuRUM Potabile, 133 

On the Sea, 137 

Tyre, 139 

An Answer, 143 

Requiem in the South, 144 

gulistan, 147 

Jerusalem, 150 

The Voy'Age of a Dream, 154 

L'Envoi, 160 



n. 

Htmx to Air, 165 

Song, 172 

The Mystery, 174 

A Picture, 177 

In the Meado-ws, 180 

Sonnet, 182 

The Winter Solstice, 183 

In Articulo Mortis, 186 

Saturday Night at Sea, 193 

Song, 195 

The Mid-Watoh, 197 

The Phantom, 199 

Lament and Consolation, 202 



PEOEM DEDICATORY. 



AN EPISTLE FROM MOUNT TMOLUS. 



TO RICHARD HENKY STODDARD. 



O Friend, were you but couched on Tmolus' side, 
In the warm myrtles, in the golden air 
Of the dechning day, which half lays bare, 

Half drapes, the silent mountains and the wide 

Embosomed vale, that wanders to the sea ; 
And the far sea, with doubtful specks of sail. 

And farthest isles, that slumber tranquilly 
Beneath the Ionian autumn's violet veil ; — 

(7) . 



8 



Were you but with me, little were the need 
Of this imperfect artifice of rhyme, 
Where the strong Fancy peals a broken chime 

And the ripe brain but sheds abortive seed. 

But I am solitary, and the curse. 

Or blessing, which has clung to me from birth -^ 

The torment and the ecstasy of verse — 
Comes up to me from the illustrious earth 

Of ancient Tmolus ; and the very stones. 

Reverberant, din the mellow air with tones 

Which the sweet air remembers ; and they blend 
With fainter echoes, which the mountains fling 

From far oracular caverns : so, my Friend, 
I cannot choose but sing ! 



II. 



Unto mine eye, less plain the shepherds be, 

Tending their browsing goats amid the broom, 
Or the slow camels, travelling towards the sea. 

Laden with bales from Baghdad's gaudy loom, 
Or yon nomadic Turcomans, that go 

Down from their summer pastures — than the twain 
Immortals, who on Tmolus' thymy top 

Sang, emulous, the rival strain ! 
Down thQ charmed air did light Apollo drop ; 



Great Pan ascended from the vales below. 
I see them sitting in the silent glow ; 
I hear the alternating measures flow 
From pipe and golden lyre ; — the melody 

Heard by the Gods between their nectar bowls, 
Or when, from out the chambers of the sea, 

Comes the triumphant Morning, and unrolls 
A pathway for the sun ; then, following swift. 

The dsedal harmonies of awful caves 
Cleft in the hills, and forests that uplift 

Their sea-like boom, in answer to the waves, 
With many a lighter strain, that dances o'er 
The wedded reeds, till Echo strives in vain 
To follow : 
Hark! once more. 
How floats the God's exultant strain 
In answer to Apollo ! 

" The ivind in the reeds and the rushes, 
The bees on the hells of thyme^ 
The hirds on the myrtle hushes^ 
TJie cicdle cibove in the lime, 
And the lizards helow in the grass 
Are as silent as ever old Tmolus ivas. 
Listening to my sivect pipings.^' 



10 



in. 



I cannot separate the minstrels' worth ; 
Each is alike transcendent and divine. 

What were the Day, unless it lighted Earth ? 

And what were Earth, should Day forget to shine ? 

But were you here, my Friend, we twain would build 
Two altars, on the mountain's sunward side : 
There Pan should o'er my sacrifice preside, 

And there Apollo your oblation gild. 

He is your God, but mine is shaggy Pan ; 
Yet, as their music no discordance made, 
So shall our offerings side by side be laid. 

And the same wind the rival incense fan. 



IV. 



You strain your ear to catch the harmonies 
That in some finer region have their birth ; 

I turn, despairing, from the quest of these, 
And seek to learn the native tongue of Earth. 

In " Fancy's tropic clime " your castle stands, 
A shining miracle of rarest art ; 

I pitch my tent upon the naked sands, 



11 



And the tall palm, that plumes the orient lands, 
Can with its beauty satisfy my heart. 

You, in your starry trances, breathe the air 
Of lost Elysium, pluck the snowy bells 
Of lotus and Olympian asphodels, 

And bid us their diviner odors share. 

I at the threshold of that world have lain, 
Gazed on its glory, heard the grand acclaim 
Wherewith its trumpets hail the sons of Fame, 

And striven its speech to master — but in vain. 

And now I turn, to find a late content 

In Nature, making mine her myriad shows ; 
Better contented with one living rose 

Than all the Gods' -ambrosia ; sternly bent 

On wresting from her hand the cup, whence flow 
The flavors of her ruddiest life — the change 
Of climes and races — the unshackled range 

Of all experience ; — that my songs may show 

The warm red blood that beats in hearts of men, 

And those who read them in the festering den 
Of cities, may behold the open sky, 

And hear the rhythm of the winds that blow. 
Instinct with Freedom. Blame me not, diat 1 

Find in the forms of Earth a deeper joy 

Than in the dreams which lured me as a boy, 



12 



And leave the Heavens, where yoa are wandering still 
With bright Apollo, to converse with Pan ; 
For, though full soon our courses separate ran. 

We, like the Gods, can meet on Tmolus' hill. 



There is no jealous rivalry in Song : 

I see your altar on the hill-top shine. 

And mine is built in shadows of the Pine, 
Yet the same worships unto each belong. 
Different the Gods, yet one the sacred awe 

Their presence brings us, one the reverent heart 
Wherewith we honor the immortal law 

Of that high inspiration, which is Art. 
Take, therefore. Friend ! these Voices of the Earth - - 

The rhythmic records of my life's career. 
Humble, perhaps, yet wanting not the worth 

Of Truth, and to the heart of Nature near. 
Take them, and your acceptance, in the dearth 

Of the world's tardy praise, shall make them dear. 



POEMS OF THE ORIENT. 



Da der West ward duechgekostet, 
Hat ee nun den Ost entmostet. 

RUCKEBT, 



(13) 



15 



A P^AN TO THE DAWN. 



The dusky sky fades into blue, 

And bluer surges bind us ; 
The stars are glimmering faint and few, 

The night is left behind us ! 
Turn not where sinks the sullen dark 

Before the signs of warning, 
But crowd the canvas on our bark 

And sail to meet the morning. 
Rejoice ! rejoice ! the hues that fill 

The orient, flush and lighten ; 
And over the blue Ionian hill 

The Pawn begins to brighten ! 



16 



IL 



We leave the Night, that weighed so long 

Upon the soul's endeavor, 
For Morning, on these hills of Song, 

Has made her home forever. 
Hark to the sound of trump and lyre. 

In the olive groves before us, 
And the rhythmic beat, the pulse of fire, 

Throb in the full-voiced chorus ! 
More than Memnonian grandeur speaks 

In the triumph of the psean. 
And all the glory of the Greeks 

Breathes o'er the old ^gean. 



III. 



Here shall the ancient Dawn return. 

That lit the earliest poet, 
Whose very ashes in his urn 

Would radiate gloiy through it — 
The dawn of Life, when Life was Song, 

And Song the life of Nature, 



17 



And the Singer stood amid the throng 

A God in every feature ! 
When Love was free, and free as air 

The utterance of Passion, 
And the heart in every fold lay bare, 

Nor shamed its true expression. 



IV. 



Then perfect limb and perfect face 

Surpassed our best ideal ; 
Unconscious Nature's law was grace — 

The Beautiful was real. 
For men acknowledged true desires, 

And light as garlands wore them ; 
They were begot by vigorous sires, 

And noble mothers bore them. 
O, when the shapes of Art they planned 

Were living forms of passion. 
Impulse and Deed went hand in hand, 

And Life was more than Fashion ! 



The seeds of Song they scattered first 
Flower in all later pages ; 
2 



18 



Their forms have woke the Artist's thirst 

Through the succeeding ages : 
But I will seek the fountain-head 

Whence flowed their inspiration, 
And lead the unshackled life they led, 

Accordant with Creation. 
The World's false life, that follows still, 

Has ceased its chain to tighten, 
And over the blue Ionian hill 

I see the sunrise brishten ! 



19 



THE POET IN THE EAST. 

The Poet came to the Land of the East, 

When Spring was in the air : 
The Earth was dressed for a wedding feast, 

So young she seemed, and fair ; 
And the Poet knew the Land of the East — 

His soul was native there. 

All things to him were the visible forms 
Of early and precious dreams — 

Familiar visions that mocked his quest 
Beside the Western streams, 

Or gleamed in the gold of the clouds, unrolled 
In the sunset's dying beams. 

He looked above in the cloudless calm, 
And the Sun sat on his throne ; 



20 



The breath of gardens, deep in balm, 

Was all about him blown, 
And a brother to him was the princely Palm, 

For he cannot live alone. 

His feet went forth on the myrtled hills, 
And the flowers their welcome shed ; 

The meads of milk-white asphodel 
They knew the Poet's tread, 

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, 
The poppy's bonfire spread. 

And, half in shade and half in sun, 

The Rose sat in her bower. 
With a passionate thrill in her crimson heart — 

She had waited for the hour ! 
And, like a bride's, the Poet kissed 

The lips of the glorious flower. 

Then the Nightingale, who sat above 

In the boughs of the citron tree. 
Sang : We are no rivals, brother mine. 

Except in minstrelsy ; 
For the rose you kissed with the kiss of love 

Is faithful still to me. 



21 



And further sang the Nightingale : 

Your bower not distant lies. 
I heard the sound of a Persian lute 

From the jasmined window rise, 
And like two stars, through the lattice-bars, 

I saw the Sultana's eyes. 

The Poet said : I will here abide, 

In the Sun's unclouded door ; 
Here are the wells of all delight 

On the lost Arcadian shore : 
Here is the light on sea and land. 

And the dream deceives no more. 



22 



THE TEMPTATION OF HASSAN BEN 
KHALED. 



Hassan Ben Khaled, singing in the streets 

Of Cairo, sang these verses at my door : 

" Blessed is he, who God and Prophet greets 

Each morn with prayer ; but he is blest much more 

Whose conduct is his prayer's interpreter. 

Sweeter than musk, and pleasanter than myrrh, 

Richer than rubies, shall his portion be, 

When God bids Azrael : ' bring him unto me ! ' 

But woe to him whose life casts dirt upon 

The Prophet's word ! When all his days are done, 

Him shall the Evil Angel trample down 

Out of the sight of God." Thus, with a frown 

Of the severest virtue, Hassan sang 

Unto the people, till the markets rang. 



23 



But two days after this, he came again 

And sang, and I remarked an altered strain. 

Before my shop he stood, with forehead bent 

Like one whose sin hath made him penitent — 

In whom the pride, that, like a stately reed 

Lifted his head, is broken. " Blest, indeed," 

(These were his words,) " is he who never fell. 

But blest much more, who from the verge of Hell 

Climbs up to Paradise : for Sin is sweet ; 

Strong is Temptation ; willing are the feet 

That follow Pleasure, manifold her snares, 

And pitfalls lurk beneath our very prayers : 

Yet God, the Clement, the Compassionate, 

In pity of our weakness keeps the gate 

Of Pardon open, scorning not to wait 

Till the last moment, when His mercy flings 

A splendor from the shade of Azrael's wings." 

" Wherefore, Poet ! " I to Hassan said, 

" This altered measure ? Wherefore hang your head, 

O Hassan ! whom the pride of virtue gives 

The right to face the holiest man that lives .? 

Enter, I pray thee : this poor house will be 

Honored henceforth, if it may shelter thee." 



24 



Hassan Ben Khaled lifted up his eyes 

To mine, a moment : then, in cheerful guise, 

He passed my threshold with unslippered feet. 



III. 



1 led him from the noises of the street 

To the cool mner chambers, where my slave 

Poured out the pitcher's rosy-scented wave 

Over his hands, and laid upon his knee 

The napkin, silver-fringed : and when the pipe 

Exhaled a grateful odor from the ripe 

Latakian leaves, said Hassan unto me : 

" Listen, O Man ! no man can truly say 

That he hath wisdom. What I sang to-day 

Was not less truth than what I sang before. 

But to Truth's house there is a single door, 

Which is Experience. He teaches best. 

Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast 

And knows their strength or weakness through his own* 

The holy pride, that never was o'erthrown, 

Was never tempted, and its words of blame 

Reach but the dull ears of the multitude : 

The admonitions, fruitful unto good, 

Come from the voice of him who conquers shame." 



25 



IV. 



" Give me, O Poet ! (if thy friend may be 
Worthy such confidence," ) I said ; " the key 
Unto thy words, that I may share with thee 
Thine added wisdom." Hassan's kindly eye 
Before his lips unclosed, spake willingly, 
And he began : " But two days since, I went 
Singing what thou didst hear, with soul intent 
On my own virtue, all the markets through ; 
And when about the time of prayer, I drew 
Near to the Gate of Victory, behold ! 
There came a man, whose turban fringed with gold 
And golden cimeter, bespake his wealth : 
' May God prolong thy days, O Hassan ! Health 
And Fortune be thy wisdom's aids ! ' he cried ; 
' Come to my garden by the river's side, 
Where other poets wait thee. Be my guest, 
For even the Prophets had their times of rest, 
And Kest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds. 
Is one with Prayer.' Two royal-blooded steeds, 
Held by his grooms, were waiting at the gate, 
And though I shrank from such unwonted state 
The master's words were manna to my pride, 
And, mounting straightway, forth we twain did ride 
Unto the garden by the river's side. 



26 



Never till then had I beheld such bloom. 
The west wind sent its heralds of perfume 
To bid us welcome, midway on the road. 
Full in the sun the marble portal glowed 
Like silver, but within the garden wall 
No ray of sunshine found a place to fall. 
So thick the crowning foliage of the trees, 
Roofing the walks with twilight ; and the air 
Under their tops was greener than the seas. 
And cool as they. The forms that wandered there 
Resembled those who populate the floor 
Of Ocean, and the royal lineage own 
That gave a Princess unto Persia's throne. 
All fruits the trees of this fair garden bore, 
Whose balmy fragrance lured the tongue to taste 
Their flavors : there bananas flung to waste 
Their golden flagons with thick honey filled ; 
From splintered cups the ripe pomegranates spilled 
A shower of rubies ; oranges that glow 
Like globes of fire, enclosed a heart of snow 
Which thawed not in their flame ; like balls of gold 
The peaches seemed, that had in blood been rolled ; 
Pure saflVon mixed with clearest amber stained 
The apricots ; bunches of amethyst 



27 



And sapphire seemed the grapes, so newly kissed 

That still the mist of Beauty's breath remained , 

And where the lotus slowly swung in air 

Her snowy-bosomed chalice, rosy-veined, 

The golden fruit swung softly-cradled there, 

Even as a bell upon the bosom swings 

Of some fair dancer — happy bell, that sings 

For joy, its golden tinkle keeping time 

To the heart's beating and the cymbal's chime ! 

There dates of agate and of jasper lay, 

Dropped from the bounty of the pregnant palm, 

And all ambrosial trees, all fruits of balm, 

All flowers of precious odors, made the day 

Sweet as a morn of Paradise. My breath 

Failed with the rapture, and with doubtful mind 

I turned to where the garden's lord reclined. 

And asked, " Was not that gate the Gate of Death ? " 



VI. 



The guests were near a fountain. As I came 
They rose in welcome, wedding to my name 
Titles of honor, linked in choicest phrase. 
For Poets' ears are ever quick to Praise, 
The ' Open Sesame ! ' whose magic art 
Forces the rruardcd entrance of the heart. 



28 



Young men were they, whose manly beauty made 
Their words the sweeter, and their speech displayed 
Knowledge of men, and of the Prophet's laws. 
Pleasant our converse was, where every pause 
Gave to the fountain leave to sing its song, 
Suggesting further speech ; until, ere long, 
There came a troop of swarthy slaves, who bore 
Ewers and pitchers all of silver ore, 
Wherein we washed our hands ; then, tables placed, 
And brought us meats of every sumptuous taste 
That makes the blood rich — pheasants stuffed with 

spice ; 
Young lambs, whose entrails were of cloves and rice ; 
Ducks bursting with pistachio nuts, and fish 
That in a bed of parsley swam. Each dish, 
Cooked with such art, seemed better than the last, 
And our indulgence in the rich repast 
Brought on the darkness ere we missed the day : 
But lamps were lighted in the fountain's spray, 
Or, pendent from the boughs, their colors told 
What fruits unseen, of crimson or of gold, 
Scented the gloom. Then took the generous host 
A basket filled with roses. Every guest 
Cried, " Give me roses ! " and he thus addressed 
His words to all : " He who exalts them most 
In song, he only shall the roses wear." 



29 



Then sang a guest : " The rose's cheeks are fair ; 

It crowns the purple bowl, and no one knows 

If the rose colors it, or it the rose." 

And sang another : " Crimson is its hue. 

And on its breast the morning's crystal dew 

Is changed to rubies." Then a third replied : 

** It blushes in the sun's enamoured sight, 

As a young virgin on her wedding night. 

When from her face the bridegroom lifts the veil." 

When all had sung their songs, I, Hassan, tried. 

" The Rose," I sang, " is either red or pale, 

Like maidens whom the flame of passion burns, 

And Love or Jealousy controls, by turns. 

Its buds are lips preparing for a kiss ; 

Its open flowers are like the blush of bliss 

On lovers' cheeks ; the thorns its armor are. 

And in its centre shines a golden star. 

As on a favorite's cheek a sequin glows — 

And thus the garden's favorite is the Rose." 



VII. 

The master from his open basket shook 
The roses on my head. The others took 
Their silver cups, and filling them with wine, 



30 



Cried, " Pledge our singing, Hassan, as we thine ! " 
But I exclaimed, " What is it I have heard ? 
Wine is forbidden by the Prophet's word : 
Surely, O Friends ! ye would not lightly break 
The laws which bring ye blessing ? " Then they 

spake : 
" O Poet, learn thou that the law was made 
For men, and not for poets. Turn thine eye 
Within, and read the nature there displayed ; 
The gifts thou hast doth Allah's grace deny 
To common men ; they lift thee o'er the rules 
The Prophet fixed for sinners and for fools. 
The vine is Nature's poet : from his bloom 
The air goes reeling, tipsy with perfume, 
And when the sun is warm within his blood 
It mounts and sparkles in a crimson flood ; 
Rich with dumb songs he speaks not, till they find 
Interpretation in the Poet's mind. 
If Wine be evil, Song is evil too ; 
Then cease thy singing, lest it bring thee sin ; 
But wouldst thou know the strains which Hafiz knew, 
Drink as he drank, and thus the secret win." 
They clasped my glowing hands ; they held the bowl 
Up to my lips, till, losing all control 
Of the fierce thirst, which at my scruples laughed, 
I drained the goblet at a single draught. 



31 



It ran through every limb like fluid fire : 
" More, O my Friends ! " I cried, the new desire 
Raging within me : "this is life indeed ! 
From blood like this is coined the nobler seed 
Whence poets are begotten. Drink again, 
And give us music of a tender strain, 
Linking your inspiration unto mine, 
For music hovers on the lips of Wine ! " 



VIII. 

" Music ! " they shouted, echoing my demand, 
And answered with a beckon of his hand 
The gracious host, whereat a maiden, fair 
As the last star that leaves the morning air, 
Came down the leafy paths. Her veil revealed 
The beauty of her face, which, half concealed 
Behind its thin blue folds, showed like the moon 
Behind a cloud that will forsake it soon. 
Her hair was braided darkness, but the glance 
Of lightning eyes shot from her countenance, 
And showed her neck, that like an ivory tower 
Rose o'er the twin domes of her marble breast. 
Were all the beauty of this age compressed 
Into one form, she would transcend its power. 



32 



Her step was lighter than the young gazelle's, 

And as she walked, her anklet's golden bells 

Tinkled with pleasure, but were quickly mute 

With jealousy, as from a case she drew 

With snowy hands the pieces of her lute, 

And took her seat before me. As it grew 

To perfect shape, her lovely arms she bent 

Around the neck of the sweet instrument. 

Till from her soft caresses it awoke 

To consciousness, and thus its rapture spoke : 

" I was a tree within an Indian vale. 

When first I heard the love-sick nightingale 

Declare his passion : every leaf was stirred 

With the melodious sorrow of the bird. 

And when he ceased, the song remained with me. 

Men came anon, and felled the harmless tree. 

But from the memory of the songs I heard. 

The spoiler saved me from the destiny 

Whereby my brethren perished. O'er the sea 

I came, and from its loud, tumultuous moan 

I caught a soft and solemn 'Undertone ; 

And when I grew beneath the maker's hand 

To what thou seest, he sang (the while he planned) 

The mirthful measures of a careless heart. 

And of my soul his songs became a part. 

Now they have laid my head upon a breast 



83 



Whiter than marble, I am wholly blest. 
The fair hands smite me, and my strings complain 
With such melodious cries, they smite again, 
Until, with passion and with sorrow swayed, 
My torment moves the bosom of the maid, 
Who hears it speak her own. I am the voice 
Whereby the lovers languish or rejoice ; 
And they caress me, knowing that my strain 
Alone can speak the language of their pain." 



IX. 



Here ceased the fingers of the maid to stray 
Over the strings ; the sweet song died away 
In mellow, drowsy murmurs, and the lute 
Leaned on her fairest bosom, and was mute. 
Better than wine that music was to me : 
Not the lute only felt her hands, but she 
Played on my heartstrings, till the sounds became 
Incarnate in the pulses of my frame. 
Speech left my tongue, and in my tears alone 
Found utterance. With stretched arms I implored 
Continuance, whereat her fingers poured 
A tenderer music, answering the tone 
Her parted lips released, the while her throat 
3 



34 



Throbbed, as a heavenly bird were fluttering there, 

And gave her voice the wonder of his note. 

" His brow," she sang, " is white beneath his hair ; 

The fertile beard is soft upon his chin. 

Shading the mouth that nestles warm within. 

As a rose nestles in its leaves ; I see 

His eyes, but cannot tell what hue they be, 

For the sharp eyelash, like a sabre, speaks 

The martial law of Passion ; in his cheeks 

The quick blood mounts, and then as quickly goes, 

Leaving a tint like marble when a rose 

Is held beside it : — bid him veil his eyes, 

Lest all my soul should unto mine arise, 

And he behold it ! " As she sang, her glance 

Dwelt on my face ; her beauty, like a lance. 

Transfixed my heart. I melted into sighs. 

Slain by the arrows of her beauteous eyes. 

" Why is her bosom made " (I cried) " a snare ? 

Why does a single ringlet of her hair 

Hold my heart captive ? " " Would you know ? " 

she said ; 
" It is that you are mad with love, and chains 
Were made for madmen." Then she raised her head 
With answering love, that led to other strains. 
Until the lute, which shared with her the smart, 
Rocked as in storm upon her beating heart. 



35 



Thus to its wires she made impassioned cries : 

" I swear it by the brightness of his eyes ; 

I swear it by the darkness of his hair ; 

By the warm bloom his Hmbs and bosom wear; 

By the fresh pearls his rosy lips enclose ; 

By the calm majesty of his repose ; 

By smiles I coveted, and frowns I feared, 

And by the shooting myrtles of his beard — 

I swear it, that from him the morning drew 

Its freshness, and the moon her silvery hue, 

The sun his brightness, and the stars their fire. 

And musk and camphor all their odorous breath 

And if he answer not my love's desire 

Day will be night to me, and Life be Death ! " 



Scarce had she ceased, when, overcome, I fell 
Upon her bosom, where the lute no more 
That night was cradled ; song was silenced well 
With kisses, each one sweeter than before. 
Until their fiery dew so long was quafTed, 
I drank delirium in the infectious draught. 
The guests departed, but the sounds they made 
I heard not ; in the fountain-haunted shade 



36 



The lamps burned out ; the moon rode far above, 
But the trees chased her from our nest of love. 
Dizzy with passion, in mine ears the blood 
Tingled and hummed in a tumultuous flood, 
Until from deep to deep I seemed to fall. 
Like him, who from El Sirat's hair-drawn wall 
Plunges to endless gulfs. In broken gleams 
Glimmered the things I saw, so mixed with dreams 
The vain confusion blinded every sense, 
And knowledge left me. Then a sleep intense 
Fell on my brain, and held me as the dead, 
Until a sudden tumult smote my head. 
And a strong glare, as when a torch is hurled 
Before a sleeper's eyes, brought back the world. 



XI. 



Most wonderful ! The fountain and the trees 
Had disappeared, and in the place of these 
I saw the well-known Gate of Victory. 
The sun was high ; the people looked at me, 
And marvelled that a sleeper should be there 
On the hot pavement, for the second prayer 
Was called from all the minarets. I passed 
My hand across my eyes, and found at last 



37 



What man I was. Then straightway through my heart 

There ran a double pang — the bitter smart 

Of evil knowledge, and the unhealthy lust 

Of sinful pleasure ; and I threw the dust 

Upon my head, the burial of my pride — 

The ashen soil, wherein I plant the tree 

Of Penitence. The people saw, and cried, 

" May God reward thee, Hassan ! Truly, thou. 

Whom men have honored, addest to thy brow 

The crowning lustre of Humility : 

As thou abasest, God exalteth thee ! " 

Which when I heard, I shed such tears of shame 

As might erase the record of my blame. 

And from that time I have not dared to curse 

The unrighteous, since the man who seemeth worse 

Than I, may purer be ; for, when I fell, 

Temptation reached a loftier pinnacle. 

Therefore, O Man ! be Charity thy aim : 

Praise cannot harm, but weigh thy words of blame. 

Distrust the Virtue that itself exalts. 

But turn to that which doth avow its faults. 

And from Repentance plucks a wholesome fruit. 

Pardon, not Wrath, is God's best attribute. 



38 



XII. 



" The tale, Poet ! which thy lips have told," 

I said, " is words of rubies set in gold. 

Precious the wisdom which from evil draws 

Strength to fulfil the good, of Allah's laws. 

But lift thy head, O Hassan ! Thine own words 

Shall best console thee, for my tongue affords 

No phrase but thanks for what thou hast bestowed ; 

And yet I fain would have thee shake the load 

Of shame from off thy shoulders, seeing still 

That by this fall thou hast increased thy will 

To do the work which makes thee truly blest." 

Hassan Ben Khaled wept, and smote his breast : 

" Hold ! hold, O Man ! " he cried : " why make me 

feel 
A deeper shame ? Must I to thee reveal 
That Sin is as the leprous taint no art 
Can cleanse the blood from ? In my secret heart 
I do believe I hold at dearer cost 
The vanished Pleasure, than the Virtue lost." 

So saying, he arose and went his way ; 
And Allah grant he go no more astray. 



THE ARAB WARRIOR. 

FROM THE ARABIC. 

Go, ask of men that know my name, 
And they the truth will speak, 

That I'm the terror of the strong. 
The helper of the weak. 

My spear has made the dragon brood 

Succumb to galling bands. 
And tossed before the jaws of War 

The forage he demands. 

I steer my horse through stormy fights, 
As a seaman steers his craft ; 

My joy, to splinter on my breast 
The foeman's flying shaft. 



40 

I am the latest laid to rest, 
The earhest in the fight, 

And while the others idly feast 
I rub my harness bright. 

And while the booty they divide 
I heap the ranks of slain, 

And when they scorn my poverty, 
I scorn their greed of gain. 



41 



ARAB PRAYER. 

" La illdli iV AllaJi ! " the muezzin's call 
Comes from the minaret, slim and tall, 
That looks o'er the distant city's wall. 

" La illah iV Allah ! " the Faithful heed, 
With God and the Prophet this hour to plead 
Whose ear is open to hear their need. 

The sun is sunken ; no vapor mars 
The path of his going with dusky bars. 
The silent Desert awaits the stars. 

I bend the knee and I stretch the hand, 
I strike my forehead upon the sand. 
And I pray aloud, that He understand. 



42 



Not for my father, for he is dead ; 
Not in my wandering brothers' stead — 
For myself alone I bow the head. 

God is Great, and God is Just : 

He knoweth the hearts of the children of dust • 

He is the Helper ; in Him I trust. 

My sword is keen and my arm is strong 
With the sense of unforgotten wrong, 
And the hate that waits and watches long. 

God, let me wait for year on year, 

But let the hour at last appear. 

When Vengeance makes my honor clear. 

Once let me strike till he is slain ; 
His blood will cleanse my sabre's stain, 
And I shall stand erect again. 

Till then, I wander to and fro, 
Wide as the desert whirlwinds go, 
And seek, by the sun and stars, my foe. 

Better than Stamboul's courts of gold, 
Whose harems the Georgian girls infold, 
Whiter than snow, but not so cold ; 



43 



Better than Baghdad's garden bowers, 

Or fountains that play among Persian flowers 

Better than all delights and powers, 

The deed God's justice will abide — 

The stern atonement, long denied. 

That righteous Vengeance gives to Pride. 



44 



EL KHALIL. 

I AM no chieftain, fit to lead 

Where spears are hurled and warriors bleed ; 

No poet, in my chanted rhyme 

To rouse the ghosts of ancient time ; 

No magian, with a subtle ken 

To rule the thoughts of other men ; 

Yet far as sounds the Arab tongue 

My name is known to old and young. 

My form has lost its pliant grace. 
There is no beauty in my face, 
There is no cunning in my arm. 
The Children of the Sun to charm ; 
Yet, where I go, my people's eyes 
Are lighted with a glad surprise, 
And in each tent a couch is free. 
And by each fire a place, for me. 



45 



They watch me from the pahns, and some 
Proclaim my coming ere I come. 
The children lift my hand to meet 
The homage of their kisses sweet ; 
With manly warmth the men embrace, 
The veiled maidens seek my face, 
And eyes, fresh kindled from the heart, 
Keep loving watch when I depart. 

On God, the Merciful, I call. 
To shed His blessing over all : 
I praise His name, for he is Great, 
And Loving, and Compassionate ; 
And for the gift of love I give — 
The breath of life whereby I live — 
He gives me back, in overflow. 
His children's love, where'er I go. 

Deep sunk in sin the man must be 
That has no friendly word for me. 
I pass through tribes whose trade is death. 
And not a sabre quits the sheath ; 
For, strong and cruel as they prove. 
The sons of men are weak to Love. 
The humblest gifts to them I bring ; 
Yet in their hearts I rule, a king. 



46 



ODE TO INDOLENCE. 



Find me a bower, in silent dells embayed, 

And trebly guarded from each wind that blows, 

Where the blue noon o'erroofs the tranquil shade. 
And poppies breathe an odor of repose ; 

Where never noises from the distant world 
Disturb the happy calm of soul and sense, 

But in thy haven every sail is furled, 
Divinest Indolence ! 

There shall I summon all melodious measures. 

And feel the hymns to thee, I sing to other Pleasures 



47 



Within thy reahn the vexing tempests die 

That strip the leaves from Life's aspiring tree. 

And fairer blossoms open in thy sky, 
To richer fruits maturing peacefully. 

What is the clangor of Ambition's car 
To thine eternal silence ? To thy rest, 
What are the stormy joys that shake the breast, 

And Passion's cloud, that leaves the thunder-scar ? 

On brows that burn with Toil's relentless fever 

Thy pitying hand is laid, and they have calm forever. 



III. 



Where thou dost sit, the shadow of Despair 
Fell never ; Hate and Envy thence depart ; 

Turn from thy gate the baffled hounds of Care, 
And the great strength of slumber fills the heart. 

Even Love himself, far exiled, in thy bower, 
From the bright paths of rapture which he trod, 
Folds up his wing : in Indian Song, the god 

Was born beneath the sleepy lotus-flower. 

The only fugitive escaped the riot. 

His presence glorifies thy charmed elysian quiet. 



48 



IV. 



Far from thee drift the shattered hulks of life ; 

But the wrecked spirit slumbers at thy feet, 
And, harbored now from every wave of strife, 

Feels the strong pulses of Existence beat. 
There hears the heart its native language, free 

From the world's clamor ; with enlightened eyes 

There doth the soul its features recognize. 
And read its destiny ! 
The dark enigmas which perplexed the sense 
Fade in the wisdom, born of Indolence. 



Yea, let men struggle, toil, exult, and win 
The pigmy triumphs which they fret to wear ; 

But I will fly the curse of primal sin. 
And in thy lap the peace of Eden share. 

Serener than a star on Twilight's breast, 
A sea-flower, deep below the tropic waves, 
Or sparry foliage of the daedal caves, 

I\Iy life shall blossom in thine arms of rest. 

My breath grows calm ; my weary eyelids close ; 

And the pursuing Fates have left me to repose. 



49 



SONG. 

Daughter of Egypt, veil thine eyes ! 

I cannot bear their fire ; 
Nor will I touch with sacrifice 

Those altars of Desire. 
For they are flames that shun the day, 

And their unholy light 
Is fed from natures gone astray 

In passion and in night. 

The stars of Beauty and of Sin, 

They burn amid the dark. 
Like beacons that to ruin win 

The fascinated bark. 
Then veil their glow, lest I forswear 

The hopes thou canst not crown, 
And in the black waves of thy hair 

My struggling manhood drown ! 
4 



50 



AMRAN'S WOOING. 



YoTT ask, O Frank ! how Love is born 
Within these glowing climes of Morn, 
Where envious veils conceal the charms 
That tempt a Western lover's arms. 
And how, without a voice or sound, 
From heart to heart the path is found, 
Since on the eye alone is flung 
The burden of the silent tongue. 
You hearken with a doubtful smile 
Whene'er the wandering bards beguile 
Our evening indolence with strains 
Whose words gush molten through our veins ■ 
The songs of Love, but half confessed, 
Where Passion sobs on Sorrow's breast. 
And mighty longings, tender fears. 
Steep the strong heart in fire and tears. 



51 



The source of each accordant strain 
Lies deeper than the Poet's brain. 
First from the people's heart must spring 
The passions which he learns to sing ; 
They are the wind, the harp is he, 
To voice their fitful melody — 
The language of their varying fate. 
Their pride, grief, love, ambition, hate — 
The talisman which holds inwrought 
The touchstone of the listener's thought ; 
That penetrates each vain disguise. 
And brings his secret to his eyes. 
For, like a solitary bird 
That hides among the boughs unheard 
Until some mate, whose carol breaks, 
Its own betraying song awakes, 
So, to its echo in those lays. 
The ardent heart itself betrays. 
Crowned with a prophet's honor, stands 
The Poet, on Arabian sands ; 
A chief, whose subjects love his thrall — 
The sympathizing heart of all. 



52 



II. 



Vaunt not your Western maids to me, 
Whose charms to every gaze are free : 
My love is selfish, and would share 
Scarce with the sun, or general air, 
The sight of beauty which has shone 
Once for mine eyes, and mine alone. 
Love likes concealment ; he can dress 
With fancied grace the loveliness 
That shrinks behind its virgin veil. 
As hides the moon her forehead pale 
Behind a cloud, yet leaves the air 
Softer than if her orb were there. 
And as the splendor of a star. 
When sole in heaven, seems brighter far, 
So shines the eye. Love's star and sun, 
The brighter, that it shines alone. 
The light from out its darkness sent 
Is Passion's life and element ; 
And when the heart is warm and young, 
Let but that single ray be flung 
Upon its surface, and the deep 
Heaves from its unsuspecting sleep. 
As heaves the ocean when its floor 
Breaks over the volcano's core. 



53 



Who thinks if cheek or lip be fair ? 
Is not all beauty centred where 
The soul looks out, the feelings move, 
And Love his answer gives to love ? 
Look on the sun, and you will find 
For other sights your eyes are blind. 
Look — if the colder blood you share 
Can give your heart the strength to dare 
In eyes of dark and tender fire : 
What more can blinded love desire r 



III. 



I was a stripling, quick and bold, 
And rich in pride as poor in gold, 
When God's good will my journey bent 
One day to Shekh Abdallah's tent. 
My only treasure was a steed 
Of Araby's most precious breed ; 
And whether 'twas in boastful whim 
To show his mettled speed of limb, 
Or that presumption, which, in sooth, 
Becomes the careless brow of youth, — 
Which takes the world as birds the air. 
And moves in freedom every where, — 



54 



It matters not. But 'midst the tents 
I rode in easy confidence, 
Till to Abdallah's door I pressed 
And made myself the old man's guest. 
My " Peace be with you ! " was returned 
With the grave courtesy he learned 
From age and long authority, 
And in God's name he welcomed me. 
The pipe replenished, with its stem 
Of jasmine wood and amber gem, 
Was at my lips and while I drew 
The rosy-sweet, soft vapor through 
In ringlets of dissolving blue, 
Waiting his speech with reverence meet, 
A woman's garments brushed my feet, 
And first through boyish senses ran 
The pulse of love which made me man. 
The handmaid of her father's cheer, 
With timid grace she glided near. 
And, lightly dropping on her knee, 
Held out a silver zerf to me. 
Within whose cup the fragrance sent 
From Yemen's sunburnt berries blent 
With odors of the Persian rose. 
That picture still in memory glows 
With the same heat as then — the gush 
Of fever, with its fiery flush 



55 



Startling my blood ; and I can see — 
As she this moment knelt to me — 
The shrouded graces of her form ; 
The half-seen arm, so round and warm ; 
The little hand, whose tender veins 
Branched through the henna's orange stains; 
The head, in act of offering bent ; 
And through the parted veil, which lent 
A charm for what it hid, the eye, 
Gazelle-like, large, and dark, and shy, 
That with a soft, sweet tremble shone 
Beneath the fervor of my own, 
Yet could not, would not, turn away 
The fascination of its ray, 
But half in pleasure, half in fright, 
Grew unto mine, and builded bright 
From heart to heart a bridge of light. 



IV. 



From the fond trouble of my look 
The zerf within her fingers shook, 
As with a start, like one who breaks 
Some happy trance of thought, and wakes 



56 



Unto forgotten toil, she rose 

And passed. I saw the curtains close 

Behind her steps : the light was gone, 

But in the dark my heart dreamed on. 

Some random words — thanks ill expressed 

I to the stately Shekh addressed, 

With the intelligence which he, 

My host, could not demand of me ; 

How, wandering in the desert chase, 

I spied from far his camping-place. 

And Arab honor bade me halt 

To break his bread and share his salt. 

Thereto, fit reverence for his name. 

The praise our speech is quick to frame, 

Which, empty though it seem, was dear 

To the old warrior's willing ear, 

And led his thoughts, by many a track, 

To deeds of ancient prowess back. 

Until my love could safely hide 

Beneath the covert of his pride. 

And when his " Go with God ! " was said, 

Upon El-Azrek's back I sped 

Into the desert, wide and far. 

Beneath the silver evening-star. 

And, fierce with passion, without heed 

Urged o'er the sands my snorting steed, 



57 



As if those afrites, feared of man, — 
Who watch the lonely caravan, 
And, if a loiterer lags behind. 
Efface its tracks with sudden wind. 
Then fill the air with cheating cries, 
And make false pictures to his eyes 
Till the bewildered sufferer dies, — 
Had breathed on me their demon breath. 
And spurred me to the hunt of Death. 



Yet madness such as this was worth 
All the cool wisdom of the earth, 
And sweeter glowed its wild unrest 
Than the old calm of brain and breast. 
The image of that maiden beamed 
Through all I saw, or thought, or dreamed, 
Till she became, like Light or Air, 
A part of life. And she shall share, 
I vowed, my passion and my fate. 
Or both shall fail me, soon or late, 
In the vain effort to possess ; 
For Life lives only in success. 
I could not, in her father's sight, 
Purchase the hand which was his right ; 



58 



And well I knew how quick denied 

The prayer would be to empty pride ; 

But Heaven and Earth shall sooner move 

Than bar the energy of Love. 

The sinews of my life became 

Obedient to that single aim, 

And desperate deed and patient thought 

Together in its service wrought. 

Keen as a falcon, when his eye 

In search of quariy reads the sky, 

I stole unseen, at eventide. 

Behind the well, upon whose side 

The girls their jars of water leaned. 

By one long, sandy hillock screened, 

I watched the forms that went and came, 

With eyes that sparkled with the flame 

Up from my heart in flashes sent. 

As one by one they came and went 

Amid the sunset radiance cast 

On the red sands : they came and passed, 

And she, — thank God ! — she came at last! 



VI. 



Then, while her fair companion bound 
The cord her pitcher's throat around, 



59 



And steadied with a careful hand 

Its slow descent, upon the sand 

At the Shekh's daughter's feet, I sped 

A slender arrow, shaft and head 

With breathing jasmine-flowers entwined, 

And roses such as on the wind 

Of evening with rich odors fan 

The white kiosks of Ispahan. 

A moment, fired with love and hope, 

I stayed upon the yellow slope 

El-Azrek's hoofs, to see her raise 

Her startled eyes in sweet amaze — 

To see her make the unconscious sign 

Which recognized the gift as mine, 

And place, before she turned to part, 

The flowery barb against her heart. 



VII. 

Again the Shekh's divan I pressed : 
The jasmine pipe was brought the guest, 
And Mariam, lovelier than before, 
Knelt with the steamy cup once more. 
O bliss ! within those eyes to see 
A soul of love look out on me — 



60 



A fount of passion, which is truth 

In the wild dialect of Youth — 

Whose rich abundance is outpoured 

Like worship at a shrine adored, 

And on its rising deluge bears 

The heart to raptures or despairs. 

While from the cup the zerf contained 

The foamy amber juice I drained, 

A rosebud in the zerf expressed 

The sweet confession of her breast. 

One glance of glad intelligence, 

And silently she glided thence. 

*' O Shekh ! " I cried, as she withdrew, 

(Short is the speech where hearts are true,) 

" Thou hast a daughter : let me be 

A shield to her, a sword to thee ! " 

Abdallah turned his steady eye 

Full on my face, and made reply : 

" It cannot be. The treasure sent 

By God must not be idly spent. 

Strong men there are, in service tried, 

Who seek the maiden for a bride ; 

And shall I slight their worth and truth 

To feed the passing flame of youth ? " 



61 



VIII. 



" No passing flame ! " my answer ran ; 
" But love which is the \i[e of man, 
Warmed with his blood, fed by his breath, 
And, when it fails him, leaves but Death. 

Shekh, I hoped not thy consent ; 
But having tasted in thy tent 

An Arab welcome, shared thy bread, 

1 come to warn thee I shall wed 
Thy daughter, though her suitors be 
As leaves upon the tamarind tree. 
Guard her as thou mayst guard, I swear 
No other bed than mine shall wear 
Her virgin honors, and thy race 
Through me shall keep its ancient place. 
Thou'rt warned, and duty bids no more ; 
For, when I next approach thy door, 
Her child shall intercessor be 

To build up peace 'twixt thee and me.'* 
A little flushed my boyish brow ; 
But calmly then I spake, as now. 
The Shekh, with dignity that flung 
Rebuke on my impetuous tongue, 



62 



Replied : " The young man's hopes are fair ; 

The young man's blood would all things dare. 

But age is wisdom, and can bring 

Confusion on the soaring wing 

Of reckless youth. Thy words are just, 

But needless ; for I still can trust 

A father's jealousy to shield 

From robber grasp the gem concealed 

Within his tent, till he may yield 

To fitting hands the precious store. 

Go, then, in peace ; but come no more." 



IX. 



My only sequin served to bribe 
A cunning mother of the tribe 
To Mariam's mind my plan to bring. 
A feather of the wild dove's wing, 
A lock of raven gloss and stain 
Sheared from El-Azrek's flowing mane, 
And that pale flower whose fragrant cup 
Is closed until the moon comes up, — 
But then a tenderer beauty holds 
Than any flower the sun unfolds, — 



63 



Declared my purpose. Her reply 
Let loose the winds of ecstasy : 
Two roses and the moonlight flower 
Told the acceptance, and the hour — 
Two daily suns to waste their glow, 
And then, at moonrise, bliss — or woe. 



El-Azrek now, on whom alone 
The burden of our fate was thrown, 
Claimed from my hands a double meed 
Of careful training for the deed. 
I gave him of my choicest store — 
No guest was ever honored more. 
With flesh of kid, with whitest bread, 
And dates of Egypt was he fed ; 
The camel's heavy udders gave 
Their frothy juice his thirst to lave : 
A charger, groomed with better care, 
The Sultan never rode to prayer. 
My burning hope, my torturing fear, 
I breathed in his sagacious ear ; 
Caressed him as a brother might, 
Implored his utmost speed in flight. 



64 



Hnng on his neck with many a vow, 
And kissed the white star on his brow. 
His large and lustrous eyeball sent 
A look which made me confident, 
As if in me some doubt he spied. 
And met it with a human pride. 
" Enough : I trust thee. 'Tis the hour, 
And I have need of all thy power. 
Without a wing, God gives thee wings. 
And Fortune to thy forelock clings.'" 



XI. 



The yellow moon was rising large 
Above the Desert's dusky marge. 
And save the jackal's whining moan. 
Or distant camel's gurgling groan, 
And the lamenting monotone 
Of winds that breathe their vain desire 
And on the lonely sands expire, 
A silent charm, a breathless spell, 
Waited with me beside the well. 
She is not there — not yet — but soon 
A white robe glimmers in the moon. 



65 



Her little footsteps make no sound 
On the soft sand ; and with a bound, 
Where terror, doubt, and love unite 
To blind her heart to all but flight. 
Trembling, and panting, and oppressed, 
She threw herself upon my breast. 
By Allah ! like a bath of flame 
The seething blood tumultuous came 
From life's hot centre as I drew 
Her mouth to mine : our spirits grew 
Together in one long, long kiss — 
One swooning, speechless pulse of bliss, 
That, throbbing from the heart's core, met 
In the united lips. O, yet 
The eternal sweetness of that draught 
Renews the thirst with which I quaffed 
Love's virgin vintage : starry fire 
Leapt from the twilights of desire,. 
And in the golden dawn of dreams 
The space grew warm with radiant beams. 
Which from that kiss streamed o'er a sea 
Of rapture, in whose bosom we 
Sank down, and sank eternally. 
5 



66 



XII. 



Now nerve thy limbs, El-Azrek ! Fling 
Thy head aloft, and like a wing 
Spread on the wind thy cloudy mane ! 
The hunt is up : their stallions strain 
The urgent shoulders close behind, 
And the wide nostril drinks the wind. 
But thou art, too, of Nedjid's breed. 
My brother ! and the falcon's speed 
Slant down the storm's advancing line 
Would laggard be if matched with thine. 
Still leaping forward, whistling through 
The moonlight-laden air, we flew; 
And from the distance, threateningly, 
Came the pursuer's eager cry. 
Still forward, forward, stretched our flight 
Through the long hours of middle night ; 
One after one the followers lagged. 
And even my faithful Azrek flagged 
Beneath his double burden, till 
The streaks of dawn began to fill 
The East, and, freshening in the race, 
Their goaded horses gained apace. 



67 



I drew my dagger, cut the girth, 

Tumbled my saddle to the earth, 

And clasped with desperate energies 

My stallion's side with iron knees ; 

While Mariam, clinging to my breast, 

The closer for that peril pressed. 

They come ! they come ! Their shouts we hear, 

Now faint and far, now fierce and near. 

brave El-Azrek ! on the track 

Let not one fainting sinew slack. 

Or know thine agony of flight 

Endured in vain ! The purple light 

Of breaking morn has come at last. 

O joy ! the thirty leagues are past ; 

And, gleaming in the sunrise, see 

The white tents of the Aneyzee ! 

The warriors of the waste, the foes 

Of Shekh Abdallah's tribe, are those 

Whose shelter and support I claim, 

Which they bestow in Allah's name ; 

While, wheeling back, the baffled few 

No longer ventured to pursue. 



68 



2III. 



And now, O Frank ! if you would see 

How soft the eyes that looked on me 

Through Mariam's silky lashes, scaa 

Those of my little Solyman. 

And should you marvel if the child 

His stately grandsire reconciled 

To that bold theft, when years had brought 

The golden portion which he sought, 

And what upon this theme befell. 

The Shekh himself can better tell. 



A PLEDGE TO HAFIZ. 

Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine ! 
Roses round your temples twine ; 
Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine — 
Hafiz pledge we, Bard divine ! 
With the summer warmth that glows 
In the wine and on the rose, 
Blushing, fervid, ruby-bright, 
We shall pledge his name aright. 

Hafiz, in whose measures move 
Youth and Beauty, Song and Love — 
In his veins the nimble flood 
Was of wine, and not of blood. 
All the songs he sang or thought 
In his brain were never wrought, 
But like rose leaves fell apart 
From that bursting rose, his heart. 



70 



Youth is morning's transient ray ; 

Love consumes itself away ; 

Time destroys what Beauty gives ; 

But in Song the Poet lives. 

While we pledge him — thus — and thus 

He is present here in us ; 

'Tis his voice that cries, not mine : 

Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine ! 



71 



THE GARDEN OF IREM. 

Have you seen the Garden of Irem ? 

No mortal knoweth the road thereto. 

Find me a path in the mists that gather 

When the sunbeams scatter the morning dew. 

And I will lead you thither. 

Give me a key to the halls of the sun 

When he goes behind the purple sea, 

Or a wand to open the vaults that run 

Down to the afrite-guarded treasures, 

And I will open its doors to thee. 

Who hath tasted its countless pleasures .? 

Who hath breathed, in its winds of spice, 

Raptures deeper than Paradise ? 

Who hath trodden its ivory floors, 

Where the fount drops pearl from a golden shell, 

And heard the hinges of diamond doors 

Swing to the music of Israfel ? 



72 



Its roses blossom, its palms arise, 

By the phantom stream that flows so fair 

Under the Desert's burning skies. 

Can you reach that flood, can you drink its tide, 

Can you swim its waves to the farther side, 

Your feet may enter there. 



II. 



I have seen the Garden of Irem. 

I found it, but I sought it not : 

"Without a path, without a guide, 

Ifound the enchanted spot : 

Without a key its golden gate stood wide. 

I was young, and strong, and bold, and free 

As the milk-white foal of the Nedjidee, 

And the blood in my veins was like sap of the vine, 

That stirs, and mounts, and will not stop 

Till the breathino; blossoms that brino; the wine 

Have drained its balm to the last sweet drop. 

Lance and barb were all I knew, 

Till deep in the Desert the spot I found, 

Where the marvellous gates of Irem threw 

Their splendors over an unknown ground. 

Mine were the pearl and ivory floors. 

Mine the music of diamond doors, 



73 



Turning each on a newer glory : 
Mine were the roses whose bloom outran 
The spring-time beauty of Gulistan, 
And the fabulous flowers of Persian story. 
Mine were the palms of silver stems. 
And blazing emerald for diadems ; 
The fretted arch and the gossamer wreath, 
So light and frail you feared to breathe ; 
Yet o'er them rested the pendent spars 
Of domes bespangled with silver stars. 
And crusted gems of rare adorning : 
And ever higher, like a shaft of fire, 
The lessening links of the golden spire 
Flamed in the myriad-colored morning! 

Like one who lies on the marble lip 

Of the blessed bath in a tranquil rest, 

And stirs not even a finger's tip 

Lest the beatific dream should slip, 

So did I lie in Irem's breast. 

Sweeter than Life and stronger than Death 

Was every draught of that blissful breath ; 

Warmer than Summer came its glow 

To the youthful heart in a mighty flood, 

And sent its bold and generous blood 

To water the world in its onward flow. 



74 



There, where the Garden of Irem lies, 
Are the roots of the Tree of Paradise, 
And happy are they who sit below, 
When into this world of Strife and Death 
The blossoms are shaken by Allah's breath. 



75 



THE BIRTH OF THE HORSE. 



FROM THE ARABIC. 



The South Wind blows from Paradise — 

A wind of fire and force ; 
And yet his proudest merit is 

That he begat the Horse. 

When Allah's breath created first 

The noble Arab steed, — 
The conqueror of all his race 

In courage and in speed,-— 

To the South Wind He spake : From thee 

A creature shall have birth. 
To be the bearer of my arms 

And my renown on Earth. 



n 



The pride of all the Faithful, he — 

The terror of their foes : 
Rider and Horse shall comrades be 

In battle and repose. 

Then to the perfect Horse He spake : 

Fortune to thee I bring • 
Fortune, as long as rolls the Earth, 

Shall to thy forelock cling. 

Without a pinion winged thou art, 
Ajad fleetest with thy load ; 

Bridled art thou without a rein. 
And spurred without a goad. 

Men shall bestride thee who have made 
Their fame, their service, mine ; 

And, when they pray upon their way, 
Their prayers shall count as thine. 

The worship which thy master speaks 

Thou sharest silently ; 
By mutual fate he rises up, 

Or falls to Earth with thee. 



77 



THE WISDOM OF ALL 

AN ARAB LEGEND. 

The Prophet once, sitting in calm debate, 
Said : " I am Wisdom's fortress ; but the gate 
Thereof is Ali." Wherefore, some who heard, 
With unbelieving jealousy were stirred ; 
And, that they might on him confusion bring, 
Ten of the boldest joined to prove the thing. 
" Let us in turn to Ali go," they said, 
" And ask if Wisdom should be sought instead 
Of earthly riches ; then, if he reply 
To each of us, in thought, accordantly, 
And yet to none, in speech or phrase, the same, 
His shall the honor be, and ours the shame." 

Now, when the first his bold demand did make, 
These were the words which Ali straightway spake 



78 



" Wisdom is the inheritance of those 
Whom Allah favors ; riches, of his foes." 

Unto the second he said : " Thyself must be 
Guard to thy wealth ; but Wisdom guardeth thee." 

Unto the third : " By Wisdom wealth is won ; 
But riches purchased wisdom yet for none." 

Unto the fourth ; " Thy goods the thief may take ; 
But into Wisdom's house he cannot break." 

Unto the fifth : " Thy goods decrease the more 
Thou giv'st ; but use enlarges Wisdom's store." 

Unto the sixth : " Wealth tempts to evil ways ; 
But the desire of Wisdom is God's praise." 

Unto the seventh : " Divide thy wealth, each part 
Becomes a pittance. Give with open heart 
Thy wisdom, and each separate gift shall be 
All that thou hast, yet not impoverish thee." 

Unto the eighth : " Wealth cannot keep itself ; 
But Wisdom is the steward even of pelf." 



79 



Unto the ninth : " The camels slowly bring 

Thy goods ; but Wisdom has the swallow's wing." 

And lastly, when the tenth did question make, 
These were the ready words which Ali spake : — 
" Wealth is a darkness which the soul should fear ; 
But Wisdom is the lamp that makes it clear." 

Crimson with shame the questioners withdrew, 

And they declared: "The Prophet's words were 

true ; 
The mouth of Ali is the golden door 
Of Wisdom." 

When his friends to Ali bore 
These words, he smiled and said : " And should they 

ask 
The same until my dying day, the task 
Were easy ; for the stream from Wisdom's well, 
Which God supplies, is inexhaustible." 



80 



AN ORIENTAL IDYL. 

A SILVER javelin which the hills 
Have hurled upon the plain below, 

The fleetest of the Pharpar's rills, 
Beneath me shoots in flashing flow. 

I hear the never-ending laugh 

Of jostling waves that come and go, 

And suck the bubbling pipe, and quaff 
The sherbet cooled in mountain snow. 

The flecks of sunshine gleam like stars 
Beneath the canopy of shade ; 

And in the distant, dim bazaars 
I scarcely hear the hum of trade. 



81 



No evil fear, no dream forlorn, 

Darkens my heaven of perfect blue ; 

My blood is tempered to the morn — 
My veiy heart is steeped in dew. 

What Evil is I cannot tell ; 

But half I guess what Joy may be ; 
And, as a pearl within its shell, 

The happy spirit sleeps in me. 

I feel no more the pulse's strife, — 
The tides of Passion's ruddy sea, — 

But live the sweet, unconscious life 

That breathes from yonder jasmine tree. 

Upon the glittering pageantries 
Of gay Damascus streets I look 

As idly as a babe that sees 

The painted pictures of a book. 

Forgotten now are name and race ; 

The Past is blotted from my brain , 
For Memory sleeps, and will not trace 

The weary pages o'er again. 
6 



82 



I only know the morning shines, 
And sweet the dewy morning air ; 

But does it play with tendrilled vines? 
Or does it lightly lift my hair ? 

Deep-sunken in the charmed repose, 
This ignorance is bliss extreme : 

And whether I be Man, or Rose, 

O, pluck me not from out my dream ! 



83 



THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 

" Patience is the key of Content." —Mahomet. 

To cheer, to help us, children of the dust, 
More than one angel has Our Father given ; 

But one alone is faithful to her trust — 

The best, the brightest exile out of Heaven. 

Her ways are not the ways of pleasantness ; 

Her paths are not the lightsome paths of joy , 
She walks with wrongs that cannot find redress, 

And dwells in mansions Time and Death destroy. 

She waits until her stern precursor. Care, 
Has lodged on foreheads, open as the morn. 

To plough his deep, besieging trenches there — 
The signs of struggles which the heart has borne. 



84 



But when the first cloud darkens in our sky, 
And face to face with Life we stand alone, 

Silent and swift, behold ! she draweth nigh, 
And mutely makes our sufferings her own. 

Though with its bitterness the heart runs o'er, 
No words the sweetness of her lips divide ; 

But when the eye looks up for light once more. 
She turns the cloud and shows its golden side. 

Unto rebellious souls, that, mad with Fate, 
To question God's eternal justice dare. 

She points above with looks that whisper, " Wait 
What seems confusion here is wisdom there." 



To the vain challenges of doubt we send. 
No answering comfort doth she minister ; 

Her face looks ever forward to the end, 
And we, who see it not, are led by her. 

She doth not chide, nor in reproachful guise 
The griefs we cherish rudely thrust apart ; 

But in the light of her immortal eyes 
Revives the manly courage of the heart. 



85 



Daughter of God ! who walkest with us here, 
Who mak'st our every tribulation thine, 

Such light hast thou in Earth's dim atmosphere, 
How must thy seat in Heaven exalted shine ! 

How fair thy presence by those living streams 

Where Sin and Sorrow from their troubling cease ! 

Where on thy brow the crown of amaranth gleams. 
And in thy hand the golden key of Peace ! 



86 



BEDOUIN SONG. 

Fhom the Desert I come to thee 

On a stallion shod with fire ; 
And the winds are left behind 
In the speed of my desire. 
Under thy window I stand, 

And the midnight hears my cry : 
I love thee, I love but thee. 
With a love that shall not die 

Till the sun grows cold, 
And the stars are old, 
And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold ! 

Look from thy window and see 

My passion and my pain ; 
I lie on the sands below, 

And I faint in thy disdain. 



87 



Let the night-winds touch thy brow 

With the heat of my burning sigh, 
And melt thee to hear the vow 
Of a love that shall not die 

Till the sun grows cold^ 
And the stars are old. 
And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold ! 

My steps are nightly driven, 
By the fever in my breast. 
To hear from thy lattice breathed 

The word that shall give me rest. 
Open the door of thy heart. 

And open thy chamber door. 
And my kisses shall teach thy lips 
The love that shall fade no more 

Till the sun groios cold, 
And the stars are old, 
And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold ! 



88 



DESERT HYMN TO THE SUN. 



Under the arches of the morning sky, 

Save in one heart, there beats no life of Man ; 

The yellow sand-hills bleak and trackless lie. 
And far behind them sleeps the caravan. 

A silence, as before Creation, broods 

Sublimely o'er the desert solitudes. 



II. 



A silence as if God in Heaven were still. 
And meditating some new wonder ! Earth 

And Air the solemn portent own, and thrill 
With awful prescience of the coming birth. 

And Night withdraws, and on their silver cars 

Wheel to remotest space the trembling Stars. 



89 



III. 



See ! an increasing brightness, broad and fleet, 
Breaks on the morning in a rosy flood, 

As if He smiled to see His work complete. 
And rested from it, and pronounced it good. 

The sands lie still, and every wind is furled : 

The Sun comes up, and looks upon the world. 



IV. 



Is there no burst of music to proclaim 

The pomp and majesty of this new lord ? — 

A golden trumpet in each beam of flame, 
Startling the universe with grand accord ? 

Must Eartli be dumb beneath the splendors thrown 

From his full orb to glorify her own .? 



V. 



No : with an answering splendor, more than sound 

Instinct with gratulation, she adores. 
With purple flame the porphyry hills are crowned, 

And burn with gold the Desert's boundless floors ; 
And the lone Man compels his haughty knee, 
And, prostrate at thy footstool, worships thee. 



90 



VI. 



Before the dreadful glory of thy face 

He veils his sight ; he fears the fiery rod 

Which thou dost wield amid the brightening space, 
As if the sceptre of a visible god. 

If not the shadow of God's lustre, thou 

Art the one jewel flaming on His brow. 



VII. 



Art thou, O Sun, Vicegerent of His will, 
To make on Earth His presence manifest ? 

By Him created, yet creator still, 

Great Nature draws her being from thy bi'east : 

Where thou art. Life's innumerous pulses play ; 

And where thou art not. Death and fell Decay. 



VIII. 



Wrap me within the mantle of thy beams. 
And feed my pulses with thy keenest fire ! 

Here, where thy full meridian deluge streams 
Across the Desert, let my blood aspire 

To ripen in the vigor of thy blaze. 

And catch a warm.ii to shine through darker days ! 



91 



IX. 



I am alone before thee : Lord of Light ! 

Begetter of the life, of things that live ! 
Beget in me thy calm, self-balanced might ; 

To me thine own immortal ardor give. 
Yea, though, like her who gave to Jove her charms, 
My being wither in thy fiery arms. 



Whence came thy splendors ? Heaven is filled with 
thee ; 

The sky's blue walls are dazzling with thy train ; 
Thou sitt'st alone in the Immensity, 

And in thy lap the World grows young again. 
Bathed in such brightness, drunken with the Day, 
He deems the Dark forever passed away. 



XI. 

But thou dost sheathe thy trenchant sword, and lean 
With tempered grandeur towards the western gate ; 

Shedding thy glory with a brow serene. 

And leaving heaven all golden with thy state : 

Not as a king discrowned and overthrown, 

But Oiie who kccp.s^ and shall reclaim, his own. 



92 



/ 



NILOTIC DRI»KING-S0NG 



You may water your bays, brother- poets, with lays 

That brighten the cup from the stream you doat on, 
By the Schuylkill's side, or Cochituate's tide, 
Or the crystal lymph of the mountain Croton : 

(We may pledge from these 

In our summer ease. 
Nor even Anacreon's shade revile us — ) 

But I, from the flood 

Of his own brown blood, 
Will drink to the glory of ancient Nilus ! 



II. 



Cloud never gave birth, nor cradle the Earth, 
To river so grand and fair as this is ; 

Not the waves that roll us the gold of Pactolus, 
Nor cool Cephissus, nor classic Ilissus. 



93 



The lily may dip 
'*'• Her ivory lip 
To kiss the ripples of plear Eurotas ; 

But the Nile brings balm 

From the myrrh and palm, 
And the ripe, voluptuous lips of the lotus. 

III. 

The waves that ride on his mighty tide 

Were poured from the urns of unvisited mountains ; 
And their sweets of the South mingle cool in the mouth 
With the freshness and sparkle of Northern fountains. 

Again and again 

The goblet we drain — 
Diviner a stream never Nereid swam on : 

For Isis and Orus 

Have quaffed before us, 
And Ganymede dipped it for Jupiter Ammon. 



IV. 



Its blessing he pours o'er his thirsty shores, 
And floods the regions of Sleep and Silence, 

When he makes oases in desert places. 
And the plain is a sea, the hills are islands. 



94 



And had I the brave 

Anacreon's stave, 
And lips like the honeyed lips of Hylas, 

I'd dip from his brink 

My bacchanal drink, 
And sing for the glory of ancient Nilus ! 



95 



CAMADEVA. 

The sun, the moon, the mystic planets seven. 

Shone with a purer and serener flame. 
And there was joy on Earth and joy in Heaven 
When Camadeva came. 



The blossoms burst, like jewels of the air. 

Putting the colors of the morn to shame ; 
Breathing their odorous secrets every where 
When Camadeva came. 



The birds, upon the tufted tamarind spray. 

Sat side by side and cooed in amorous blame , 
The lion sheathed his claws and left his prey 
When Camadeva came. 



96 



The sea slept, pillowed on the happy shore ; 

The mountain-peaks were bathed in rosy flame ; 
The clouds went down the sky — to mount no more 
When Camadeva came. 



The hearts of all men brightened like the morn ; 

The poet's harp then first deserved its fame, 
For rapture sweeter than he sang was born 
When Camadeva came. 



All breathing life a newer spirit quaffed, 
A second life, a bliss beyond a name, 
And Death, half-conquered, dropped his idle shaft 
When Camadeva came. 



97 



NUBIA. 

A LAND of Dreams and Sleep — a poppied land ! 
With skies of endless calm above her head, 
The drowsy warmth of summer noonday shed 
Upon her hills, and silence stern and grand 
Throughout her Desert's temple-burying sand. 
Before her threshold, in their ancient place, 
With closed lips, and fixed, majestic face, 
Noteless of Time, her dumb colossi stand. 
O, pass them not with light, irreverent tread ; 
Respect the dream that builds her fallen throne. 
And soothes her to oblivion of her woes. 
Hush ! for she does but sleep ; she is not dead : 
Action and Toil have made the world their own, 
But she hath built an altar to Repose. 
7 



98 



KILIMANDJARO. 



Hail to thee, monarch of African mountains, 
Remote, inaccessible, silent, and lone — 
Who, from the heart of the tropical fervors, 
Lifiest to heaven thine alien snows. 
Feeding forever the fountains that make thee 
Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! 



II. 



The years of the world are engraved on thy forehead ; 
Time's morning blushed red on thy first-fcillen snows ; 
Yet lost in the wilderness, nameless, unnoted. 
Of Man unbeholden, thou wert not till now. 
Knowledge alone is the being of Nature, 



99 



Giving a soul to her manifold features, 
Lighting through paths of the primitive darkness 
The footsteps of Truth and the vision of Song. 
Knowledge has born thee anew to Creation, 
And long-baffled Time at thy baptism rejoices. 
Take, then, a name, and be filled with existence, 
Yea, be exultant in sovereign glory, 
While from the hand of the wandering poet 
Drops the first garland of song at thy feet. 



III. 



Floating alone, on the flood of thy making. 
Through Africa's mystery, silence, and fire, 
Lo ! in my palm, like the Eastern enchanter, 
I dip from the \yaters a magical mirror. 
And thou art revealed to my purified vision. 
I see thee, supreme in the midst of thy co-mates, 
Standing alone 'twixt the Earth and the Heavens, 
Heir of the Sunset and Herald of Morn. 
Zone above zone, to thy shoulders of granite. 
The Climates of Earth are displayed, as an index. 
Giving the scope of the Book of Creation. 
There, in the gorges that widen, descending 
From cloud and from cold into summer eternal, 



100 



Gather the threads of the ice-gendered fountains — 
Gather to riotous torrents of crystal, 
And, giving each shelvy recess where they dally 
The blooms of the North and its evergreen turfage, 
Leap to the land of the lion and lotus ! 
There, in the wondering airs of the Tropics 
Shivers the Aspen, still dreaming of cold : 
There stretches the Oak, from the loftiest ledges. 
His arms to the far-away lands of his brothers. 
And the Pine-tree looks down on his rival, the Palm. 



IV. 



Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance, 

Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air, 

Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, 

Seats of the Gods in the limitless ether. 

Looming sublimely aloft and afar. 

Above them, like folds of imperial ermine, 

Sparkle the snow-fields that furrow thy forehead — 

Desolate realms, inaccessible, silent. 

Chasms and caverns where Day is a stranger, 

■Garners where storeth his treasures the Thunder, 

The Lightning his falchion, his arrows the Hail ! 



101 



Sovereign Mountain, thy brothers give welcome : 
They, the baptized and the crowned of ages. 
Watch-towers of Continents, altars of Earth, 
Welcome thee now to their mighty assembly. 
Mont Blanc, in the roar of his mad avalanches, 
Hails thy accession ; superb Orizaba, 
Belted with beech and ensandalled with palm ; 
Chimborazo, the lord of the regions of noonday, — 
Mingle their sounds in magnificent chorus 
With greeting august from the Pillars of Heaven, 
Who, in the urns of the Indian Ganges 
Filter the snows of their sacred dominions. 
Unmarked with a footprint, unseen but of God. 



VI. 



IjO ! unto each is the seal of his lordship, 
Nor questioned the right that his majesty giveth 
Each in his awful supremacy forces 
Worship and reverence, wonder and joy. 
Absolute all, yet in dignity varied, 



102 



None has a claim to the honors of story, 
Or the superior splendors of song, 
Greater than thou, in thy mystery mantled — 
Thou, the sole monarch of African mountains, 
Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! 



103 



MIMOSA BLOOMS. 

I BREATHE your perfume, blessed flowers ; 

And looking out, the blue waves o'er, 
From Cadiz and her snow-white towers, 

I see the Egyptian shore. 

Grateful as joy that comes again 
With solace sweeter than erewhile, 

Your balsam fills my heart, as then. 
Beside the palmy Nile. 

Your golden dust is on the sands 

Where yet my transient footprint lies ; 

And in the heaven of brighter lands 
Your little stars arise. 



104 

Ye fringe with down the thorny stems ; 

Ye flood the year with balm and spice, 
More precious than the plant that gems 

The dells of Paradise. 

Pure as a sinless virgin's prayer, 
Sweet as a sleeping infant's breath, 

Ye mingle with the solemn air 
Of old Repose and Death. 

Ye bear the bliss of Spring to realms 
Where endless Summer rules the hours ; 

Noon's fiery deluge ne'er o'erwhelms 
The morning of your flowers. 

Types of a Faith whose odors free 
Gently the stress of Life beguile, 

Long may ye bloom and breathe for me, 
Ye darlings of the Nile ! 



105 



THE BIRTH OF THE PROPHET. 



Thrice three moons had waxed in heaven, thrice three 

moons had waned away, 
Smce Abdullah, faint and thirsty, on the Desert's bosom 

lay 
In the fiery lap of Summer, the meridian of the 

day; — 



II. 

Since from out the sand upgushing, lo ! a sudden foun- 
tain leapt ; 

Sweet as musk and clear as amber, to his parching lips 
it crept. 

When he drank it straightway vanished, but his blood 
its virtue kept. 



106 



III. 



Ere the morn his forehead's lustre, signet of the Proph- 
et's hne, 

To the beauty of Amina had transferred its flame di- 
vine : 

Of the germ within her sleeping, such the consecrated 



IV. 



And with every moon that faded waxed the splendor 

more and more. 
Till Amina's beauty lightened through the matron veil 

she wore. 
And the tent was filled with glory, and of Heaven it 

seemed the door. 



When her quickened womb its burden had matured, 
and Life began 

Struggling in its living prison, through the wide Crea- 
tion ran 

Premonitions of the coming of a God-appointed 
man. 



107 



VI. 



For the oracles of Nature recognize a Prophet's 

birth — 
Blossom of the tardy ages, crowning type of human 

worth — 
And by miracles and wonders he is welcomed to the 

Earth. 



VII. 



Then the stars in heaven grew brighter, stooping down- 
ward from their zones ; 

Wheeling round the towers of Mecca, sang the moon 
in silver tones, 

And the Kaaba's grisly idols trembled on their granite 
thrones. 



VIII. 



Mighty arcs of rainbow splendor, pillared shafts of pur- 
ple fire, 

Split the sky and spanned the darkness, and with many 
a golden spire. 

Beacon-like, from all the mountains streamed the lam- 
bent meteors higher. 



108 



IX. 



But when first the breath of being to the sacred infant 

came, 
Paled the pomp of airy lustre, and the stars grew dim 

with shame, 
For the glory of his countenance outshone their feebler 

flame. 



X. 



Over Nedjid's sands it lightened, unto Oman's coral 

deep, 
Startling all the gorgeous regions of the Orient from 

sleep. 
Till, a sun on night new-risen, it illumed the Indian 

steep. 



XI. 



They who dwelt in Mecca's borders saw the distant 

realms appear 
All around the vast horizon, shining marvellous and 

clear. 
From the gardens of Damascus unto those of Bende 

meer. 



109 



XII. 



^rom the colonnades of Tadmor to the hills of Hadra- 

maut, 
\.ncient Araby was lighted, and her sands the splendor 

caught, 
rill the magic sweep of vision overtook the track of 

Thought. 



XIII. 



5uch on Earth the wondrous glory, but beyond the 
sevenfold skies 

Jod His mansions filled with gladness, and the seraphs 
saw arise 

'alaces of pearl and ruby from the founts of Para- 
dise. 



XIV. 



Is the surge of heavenly anthems shook the solemn 

midnight air, 
''rom the shrines of false religions came a wailing of 

despair, 
^nd the fires on Pagan altars Mere extinguished every 

where. 



110 



XV. 



'Mid the sounds of salutation, 'mid the splendor and the 

balm, 
Knelt the sacred child, proclaiming, with a brow of 

heavenly calm : 
" God is God ; there is none other ; I his chosen Prophet 

am!" 



Ill 



TO THE NILE. 

Mysterious Flood, — that through the silent sands 

Hast wandered, century on century. 
Watering the length of green Egyptian lands. 
Which were not, but for thee, — 

Art thou the keeper of that eldest lore, 

Written ere yet thy hieroglyphs began. 
When dawned upon thy fresh, untrampled shore 
The earliest life of Man ? 

Thou guardest temple and vast pyramid. 

Where the gray Past records its ancient speech ; 
But in thine unrevealing breast lies hid 
What they refuse to teach. 



112 



All other streams with human joys and fears 
Run blended, o'er the plains of History : 
Thou tak'st no note of Man ; a thousand years 
Are as a day to thee. 

Thou, from thine unknown sources to the sea. 

Art of the Human Race a type sublime ; 
And Ocean waits thee, as Eternity 

Waits for the stream of Time. 

What were to thee the Osirian festivals ? 

Or Memnon's music on the Theban plain ? 
The carnage, when Cambyses made thy halls 
Ruddy with royal slain ? 

Even then thou wast a God, and shrines were built 

For worship of thine own majestic flood ; 
For thee the incense burned — for thee was spilt 
The sacrificial blood. 



And past the bannered pylons that arose 

Above thy palms, the pageantry and state, 
Thy current flowed, calmly as now it flows, 
Unchangeable as Fate. 



113 



Thou givest blessing as a God mignt give, 

Whose being is his bounty : from the slime 
Shaken from off thy skirts the nations live, 
Through all the years of Time. 

In thy solemnity, thine awful calm, 

Thy grand indifference of Destiny, 
My soul forgets its pain, and drinks the balm 
Which thou dost proffer me. 

Thy godship is unquestioned still : I bring 

No doubtful worship to thy shrine supreme ; 
But thus my homage as a chaplet fling. 
To float upon thy stream ! 
8 



114 



HASSAN TO HIS MARE. 

Come, my beauty ! come, my desert darling ! 

On my shoulder lay thy glossy head ! 
Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, 

Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread. 

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty ! 

And thou know'st my water-skin is free : 
Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, 

And my strength and safety lie in thee. 

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses ! 

Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye : 
Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle — 

Thou art proud he owns thee : so am I. 



115 



Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, 
Prancing with their diamond-studded reins ; 

They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness 
When they course with thee the desert-plains ! 

Let the Sultan bring his famous horses, 
Let him bring his golden swords to me — 

Bring his slaves, his eunuchs, and his harem ; 
He would offer them in vain for thee. 

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty ! 

And the splendor of the Pashas there : 
What's their pomp and riches ? Why, I would not 

Take them for a handful of thy hair ! 

Khaled sings the praises of his mistress. 
And, because Pve none, he pities me : 

What care I if he should have a thousand, 
Fairer than the morning ? / have thee. 

He will find his passion growing cooler 
Should her glance on other suitors fall ; 

Thou wilt ne'er, my mistress and my darling, 
Fail to answer at thy master's call. 



116 



By and by some snow-white Nedjid stallion 
Shall to thee his spring-time ardor bring ; 

And a foal, the fairest of the Desert, 

To thy milky dugs shall crouch and cling. 

Then, when Khaled shows to me his children, 
I shall laugh, and bid him look at thine ; 

Thou wilt neigh, and lovingly caress me. 
With thy glossy neck laid close to mine. 



117 



CHARMIAN. 



Daughter of the Sun ! 

Who gave the keys of passion unto thee ? 
Who taught the powerful sorcery 
Wherein my soul, too willing to be won, 
Still feebly struggles to be free, 
But more than half undone ? 
Within the mirror of thine eyes, 
Full of the sleep of warm Egyptian skies, — 
The sleep of lightning, bound in airy spell. 
And deadlier, because invisible, — 

1 see the reflex of a feeling 
Which was not, till I looked on thee : 
A power, involved in mystery. 

That shrinks, affrighted, from its own revealing. 



118 



II. 



Thou sitt'st in stately indolence, 

Too calm to feel a breath of passion start 

The listless fibres of thy sense, 

The fiery slumber of thy heart. 

Thine eyes are wells of darkness, by the veil 

Of languid lids half-sealed : the pale 

And bloodless olive of thy face. 

And the full, silent lips that wear 

A ripe serenity of grace. 

Are dark beneath the shadow of thy hair. 

Not from the brow of templed Athor beams 

Such tropic warmth along the path of dreams ; 

Not from the lips of horned Isis flows 

Such sweetness of repose ! 

For thou art Passion's self, a goddess too, 

And aught but worship never knew ; 

And thus thy glances, calm and sure, 

Look for accustomed homage, and betray 

No efibrt to assert thy sway : 

Thou deem'st my fealty secure. 



119 



III. 



Sorceress ! those looks unseal 
The undisturbed mysteries that press 
Too deep in nature for the heart to feel 
Their terror and their loveliness. 
Thine eyes are torches that illume 

On secret shrines their unforeboded fires, 
And fill the vaults of silence and of gloom 
With the unresting life of new desires. 

1 follow where their arrowy ray 
Pierces the veil I would not tear away, 
And with a dread, delicious awe behold 
Another gate of li^e unfold. 

Like the rapt neophyte who sees 

Some march of grand Osirian mysteries. 

The startled chambers I explore, 

And every entrance open lies, 

Forced by the magic thrill that runs before 

Thy slowly-lifted eyes. 

I tremble to the centre of my being 

Thus to confess the spirit's poise o'erthrown, 

And all its guiding virtues blown 

Like leaves before the whirlwind's fury fleeing. 



120 



IV. 



But see ! one memory rises in my soul, 

And, beaming steadily and clear, 

Scatters the lurid thunder-clouds that roll 

Through Passion's sultry atmosphere. 

An alchemy more potent borrow 

For thy dark eyes, enticing Sorceress ! 

For on the casket of a sacred Sorrow 

Their shafts fall powerless. 

Nay, frown not, Athor, from thy mystic shrine 

Strong Goddess of Desire, I will not be 

One of the myriad slaves thou callest thine. 

To cast my manhood's crown of royalty 

Before thy dangerous beauty : I am free ! 



121 



THE SHEKH. 



FROM THE ARABIC. 



Not a single 

Star is twinkling 
Through the wilderness of cloud : 

On the mountain, 

In the darkness, 
Stands the Shekh, and prays aloud : - 

God, who kindlest aspiration, 

Kindlest hope the heart within, — 

God, who promisest Thy mercy, 
Wiping out the debt of sin, — 

God, protect me, in the darkness, 
When the awful thunders roll : 

Evil walks the world unsleeping, 
Evil sleeps within my soul. 



122 

Keep my mind from every impulse 
Which from Thee may turn aside ; 

Keep my heart from every passion 
By Thy breath unsanctified. 

God, preserve me from a spirit 

Which Thy knowledge cannot claim ; 

From a knee that bendeth never 
In the worship of thy name ; 

From a heart whose every feeling 
Is not wholly vowed to Thee ; 

From an eye that, through its weeping, 
Thy compassion cannot see ; 

From a prayer that goes not upward. 
In the darkness and the fear, 

From the soul's impassioned centre, 
Seeking access at Thy ear ! 

When the might of Evil threatens, 
Throw Thy shelter over me : 

Let my spirit feel Thy presence. 
And my days be full of Thee ! 



123 



SMYRNA. 

The " Ornament of Asia " and the " Crown 
Of fair Ionia." Yea ; but Asia stands 
No more an empress, and Ionia's hands 
Have lost their sceptre. Thou, majestic town, 
Art as a diamond on a faded robe : 
The freshness of thy beauty scatters yet 
The radiance of that sun of Empire set. 
Whose disc sublime illumed the ancient globe. 
Thou sitt'st between the mountains and the sea ; 
The sea and mountains flatter thine array, 
And fill thy courts with Grandeur, not Decay ; 
And Power, not Death, proclaims thy cypress tree. 
Through thee, the sovereign symbols Nature lent 
Her rise, make Asia's fall magnificent. 



124 



TO A PERSIAN BOY, 

IN THE BAZAAR AT SMYRNA. 

The gorgeous blossoms of that magic tree 
Beneath whose shade I sat a thousand nights, 
Breathed from their opening petals all delights 
Embiilmed in spice of Orient Poesy, 
When first, young Persian, I beheld thine eyes. 
And felt the wonder of thy beauty grow 
Within my brain, as some fair planet's glow 
Deepens, and fills the summer evening skies. 
From under thy dark lashes shone on me 
The rich, voluptuous soul of Eastern land, 
Impassioned, tender, calm, serenely sad — 
Such as immortal Hafiz felt when he 
Sang by the fountain-streams of Rocnabad, 
Or in the bowers of blissful Samarcand. 



125 



THE GOBLET. 



When Life his lusty course began, 
And first I felt myself a man, 
And Passion's unforeboded glow — 
The thirst to feel, the will to know — 
Gave courage, vigor, fervor, truth, 
The glory of the heart of Youth, 
And each awaking pulse was fleet 
A livelier march of joy to beat, 
Presaging in its budding hour 
The ripening of the human flower, 
There came, on some divine intent. 
One whom the Lord of Life had sent. 
And from his Hps of wisdom fell 
This fair and wondrous oracle : — 



126 



II. 



Life's arching temple holds for thee 
Solution quick, and radiant key 
To many an early mystery ; 
And thou art eager to pursue, 
Through many a dimly-lighted clew, 
The hopes that turn thy blood to fire, 
The phantoms of thy young desire : 
Yet not to reckless haste is poured 
The nectar of the generous lord, 
Nor mirth nor giddy riot jar 
The penetralia, high and far ; 
But steady hope, and passion pure, 
And manly truth, the crown secure. 



III. 

Within that temple's secret heart, 
In mystic silence shrined apart, 
There is a goblet, on whose brim 
All raptures of Creation swim. 
No light that ever beamed in wine 
Can match the glory of its shine, 



127 

Or lure with such a mighty art 
The tidal flow of every heart. 
But in its warm, bewildering blaze, 
An ever-shifting magic plays, 
And few who round the altar throng 
Shall find the sweets for which they long. 
Who, unto brutish life akin, 
Comes to the goblet dark with sin, 
And with a coarse hand grasps, for him 
The splendor of the gold grows dim. 
The gems are dirt, the liquor's flame 
A maddening beverage of shame, 
And into caverns shut from day 
The hot inebriate reels away. 



IV. 



For each shall give the draught he drains 
Its nectar pure, or poison stains ; 
From out his heart the flavor flows 
That gives him fury, or repose : 
And some shall drink a tasteless wave, 
And some increase the thirst they lave; 
And others loathe as soon as taste, 
And others pour the tide to waste ; 



128 

And soine evoke from out its deeps 
A torturing fiend that never sleeps — 
For vain all arts to exorcise 
From the seared heart its haunting eyes. 



But he who burns with pure desire, 

With chastened love and sacred fire, 

With soul and being all a-glow 

Life's holiest mystery to know, 

Shall see the goblet flash and gleam 

As in the glory of a dream ; 

And from its starry lip shall drink 

A bliss to lift him on the brink 

Of mighty rapture, joy intense. 

That far outlives its subsidence. 

The draught shall strike Life's narrow goal, 

And make an outlet for his soul, 

That down the ages, broad and far, 

Shall brighten like a rising star. 

In other forms his pulse shall beat. 

His spirit walk in other feet. 



129 

And every generous hope and aim 
That spurred him on to honest fame, 
To other hearts give warmth and grace, 
And keep on earth his honored place. 
Become immortal in his race. 
9 



130 



THE ARAB TO THE PALM. 

Next to thee, O fair gazelle, 

O Beddowee girl, beloved so well ; 

Next to the fearless Nedjidee, 

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; 

Next to ye both Move the Palm, 

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 

Next to ye both I love the Tree 
Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three 
With love, and silence, and mystery ! 

Our tribe is many, our poets vie 

With any under the Arab sky ; 

Yet none can sing of the Palm but I. 



131 

The marble minarets that begem 

Cairo's citadel-diadem 

Are not so light as his slender stem. 

He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance 
As the Almehs lift their arms in dance — 

A slumberous motion, a passionate sign, 
That works in the cells of the blood like wine. 

Full of passion and sorrow is he, 
Dreaming where the beloved may be. 

And when the warm south-winds arise. 
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs — 

Quickening odors, kisses of balm. 
That drop in the lap of his chosen palm. 

The sun may flame and the sands may stir, 
But the breath of his passion reaches her. 

O Tree of Love, by that love of thine. 
Teach me how I shall soften mine ! 

Give me the secret of the sun. 
Whereby the wooed is ever won ! 



132 

If I were a King, O stately Tree, 

A likeness, glorious as might be, 

In the court of my palace I'd build for thee ! 

With a shaft of silver, burnished bright. 
And leaves of beryl and malachite ; 

With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze. 
And fruits of topaz and chrysoprase : 

And there the poets, in thy praise. 

Should night and morning frame new lays — 

New measures sung to tunes divine ; 
But none, Palm, should equal mine ! 



133 



AURUM POTABILE. 



Brother Bards of every region — 
Brother Bards, (your name is Legion !) 
Were you with me while the twilight 
Darkens up my pine-tree skylight — 
Were you gathered, representing 

Every land beneath the sun, 
O, what songs would be indited, 
Ere the earliest star is lighted, 
To the praise of vino d'oro. 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 



II. 



Yes ; while all alone 1 quaff its 
Lucid gold, and brightly laugh its 



134 



Topaz waves and amber bubbles, 
Still the thought my pleasure troubles, 

That I quaff it all alone. 
Oh for Hafiz — glorious Persian ! 
Keats, with buoyant, gay diversion 
Mocking Schiller's grave immersion ; 

Oh for wreathed Anacreon ! 
Yet enough to have the living — 
They, the few, the rapture-giving ! 
(Blessed more than in receiving,) 
Fate, that frowns when laurels wreathe them, 
Once the solace might bequeath them, 
Once to taste of vino d'oro. 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 



III. 

Lebanon, thou mount of story, 
Well we know thy sturdy glory, 

Since the days of Solomon ; 
Well we know the Five old Cedars, 
Scarred by ages — silent pleaders, 
Preaching, in their gray sedateness, 
Of thy forest's fallen greatness, 



135 

Of the vessels of the Tyrian, 
And the palaces Assyrian, 
And the temple on Morian 

To the High and Holy One ! 
Know the wealth of thy appointment- 
Myrrh and aloes, gum and ointment ; 
But we knew not, till we clomb thee. 
Of the nectar dropping from thee — 
Of the pure, pellucid Ophir 
In the cups of vino d'oro, 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 



IV. 



We have drunk, and we have eaten. 
Where Egyptian sheaves are beaten ; 
Tasted Judah's milk and honey 
On his mountains, bare and sunny ; 
Drained ambrosial bowls, that ask us 
Never more to leave Damascus ; 
And have sung a vintage paean 
To the grapes of isles -^Egean, 
And the flasks of Orvieto, 

Ripened in the Roman sun : 



136 

But the liquor here surpasses 
All that beams in earthly glasses. 
'Tis of this that Paracelsus 
(His elixir vitse) tells us, 
That to happier shores can float us 
Than Lethean stems of lotus, 
And the vigor of the morning 

Straight restores when day is done. 
Then, before the sunset waneth, 
While the rosy tide, that staineth 
Earth, and sky, and sea, remaineth, 
We will take the fortune proffered — 
Ne'er again to be reoffered — 
We will drink of vino d'oro, 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 
Vino d'oro ! vino d'oro ! — 

Golden blood of Lebanon ! 



137 



ON THE SEA. 

The pathway of the sinking moon 

Fades from the silent bay ; 
The mountain-isles loom large and faint, 

Folded in shadows gray, 
And the lights of land are setting stars 

That soon will pass away. 

O boatman, cease thy mellow song ! 

O minstrel, drop thy lyre ! 
Let us hear the voice of the midnight sea, 

Let us speak as the waves inspire, 
While the plashy dip of the languid oar 

Is a furrow of silver fire. 

Day cannot make thee half so fair. 
Nor the stars of eve so dear : 



138 



The arms that clasp and the breast that keeps, 

They tell me thou art near, 
And the perfect beauty of thy face 

In thy murmured words I hear. 

The lights of land have dropped below 
The vast and glimmering sea ; 

The world we leave is a tale that is told, — 
A fable, that cannot be. 

There is no life in the sphery dark 
But the love in thee and me ! 



139 



TYRE. 



The wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire ; 

The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of 
Tyre — 

Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland 
roars, 

And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores, 

And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long de- 
sire : 

" Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of 
Tyre ? " 



II. 



Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand, 
No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land. 



140 



And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have 

blown, 
Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and overthrown ; 
And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire 
To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships of Tyre. 



III. 



Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the 

waves — 
Thou that thyself exalted, till Kings became thy slaves? 
Thou that didst speak to nations, and saw thy will 

obeyed — 
Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore 

afraid — 
Who laid'st thy deep foundations, and thought them 

strong and sure, 
And boasted midst the waters : shall I not aye endure ? 



IV. 



Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely 

mart ? 
The pomp of purple trappings ; the gems of Syrian art ; 



141 



The silken goats of Kedar ; Sabsea's spicy store ; 

The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward 

bore, 
When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the 

sea 
With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery ? 



Howl, howl, ye ships of Tarshish ! the glory is laid 

waste : 
There is no habitation ; the mansions are defaced. 
No mariners of Sidon unfurl your mighty sails ; 
No workmen fell the fir-trees that grow in Shenir's 

vales, 
And Bashan's oaks that boasted a thousand years of 

sun, 
Or hew the masts of cedar on frosty Lebanon. 



VI. 



Rise, thou forgotten harlot! take up thy harp and 

sing : 
Call the rebellious islands to own their ancient king : 



142 



Bare to the spray thy bosom, and with thy hair un- 
bound, 

Sit on the piles of ruin, thou throneless and discrowned ! 

There mix thy voice of wailing with the thunders of the 
sea. 

And sing thy songs of sorrow, that thou remembered 
be! 



VII. 



Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments 
The pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence : 
The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder 

now; 
The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled 

brow. 
And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire : 
''' Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of 

Tyre ? " 



143 



AN ANSWER. 



You call me cold : you wonder why 
The marble of a mien like mine 

Gives fiery sparks of Poesy, 

Or softens at Love's touch divine. 



Go, look on Nature, you will find 
It is the rock that feels the sun : 

But you are blind — and to the blind 
The touch of ice and fire is one. 



144 



REQUIEM IN THE SOUTH. 

Thou hast no charm to turn the edge of Sorrow, 

Bird of the mournful strain ! 
From thee doth Love a love more fervent borrow, 

But Pain a sharper pain. 

% 

Why sing so loud, the passion-dream recalling, 

That ceased in sudden gloom .? 
Why sing from boughs, whose ripened bloom is falling 

Upon a maiden's tomb .'' 

There needs no prompter for the love, belonging 

To that sweet memory ; 
The heart's wild outcry, not its perished longing, 

Demands a voice from thee. 



145 



The blackness of a grief that will not soften 
Clings round me through the day, 

And to the grave that hides her, wandering often, 
I weep the nights away. 

In this fierce sorrow there is no partaker — 

It seeks no healing balm : 
Yet, though my lamentations cannot wake her, 

The exhausted heart grows calm. 

Here, filled with sorrows of its own creation. 
The night-wind swells and dies ; 

And, drooping in their dumb commiseration. 
The palms around me rise. 

Here, from the fiuy of my passion fleeing, 

The barriers slowly fret. 
Which dam the restless river of my being 

To stagnate in regret. 

And I may conquer this o'ermastering anguish. 

And find my peace again ; 
The manly heart must sometime cease to languish, 

Ruled by the manly brain. 
10 



146 

And what is wax shall be as steel within me, 

And be my fortune then : 
All soft indulgence powerless to win me 

From the stern ways of men. 

And let them say : " His heart is cold and cruel, 
He knows not love's desire : " 

I gave the essence of my life as fuel 
To one extinguished fire. 



147 



GULISTAN. 



AN ARABIC METRE. 



Where is Gulistan, the Land of Roses ? 

Not on hills where Northern winters 
Break their spears in icy splinters, 

And in shrouded snow the world reposes ; 
But amid the glow and splendor 
Which the Orient summers lend her, 

Blue the heaven above her beauty closes : 

There is Gulistan, the Land of Roses. 

Northward stand the Persian mountains ; 
Southward spring the silver fountains 

Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures. 
Clearly ringing to the singing 
Which the nightingales delight in. 
When the Spring, from Oman winging 

Unto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasures 
On the land, till valleys brighten, 



148 

Mountains lighten with returning 
Fires of scarlet poppy burning, 
And the stream meanders 
Through its roseate oleanders, 
And Love's golden gate, unfolden, 
Opens on a universe of pleasures. 

There the sunshine blazes over 
Meadows gemmed with ruby clover ; 
There the rose's heart uncloses. 

Prodigal with hoarded stores of sweetness, 
And the lily's cup so still is 
Where the river's waters quiver. 
That no wandering air can spill his 

Honeyed balm, or blight his beauty's fieetness. 
Skies are fairest, days are rarest — 
Thou, O Earth ! a glory wearest 
From the ecstasy thou bearest, 

Once to feel the Summer's full completeness. 

Twilight glances, moonlit dances, 
Song by starlight, there entrances 
Youthful hearts with fervid fancies, 

And the blushing rose of Love uncloses : 

Love that, lapped in summer joyance, 
Far from every rude annoyance. 

Calmly on the answering love reposes ; 



149 



And in song, in music only 
Speaks the longing, vague and lonely, 
Which to pain is there the nearest, 
Yet of joys the sweetest, dearest, 
As a cloud when skies are clearest 
On its folds intenser light discloses : 
This is Guhstan, the Land of Roses. 



150 



JERUSALEM. 

Fair shines the moon, Jerusalem, 

Upon the hills that wore 
Thy glory once, their diadem 

Ere Judah's reign was o'er : 
The stars on hallowed Olivet 

And over Zion burn. 
But when shall rise thy splendor set ? 

Thy majesty return ? 

The peaceful shades that wrap thee now 

Thy desolation hide ; 
The moonlit beauty of thy brow 

Restores thine ancient pride ; 
Yet there, where Rome thy Temple rent. 

The dews of midnight wet 
The marble dome of Omar's tent, 

And Aksa's minaret. 



151 

Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o'er, 

And broken are thy walls ; 
The harp of Israel sounds no more 

In thy deserted halls : 
But where thy Kings and Prophets trod, 

Triumphant over Death 
Behold the living Soul of God — 

The Christ of Nazareth ! 

The halo of his presence fills 

Thy courts, thy ways of men ; 
His footsteps on thy holy hills 

Are beautiful as then ; 
The prayer, whose bloody sweat betrayed 

His human agony, 
Still haunts the awful olive shade 

Of old Gethsemane. 

Woe unto thee, Jerusalem ! 

Slayer of Prophets, thou, 
That in thy fury stonest them 

God sent, and sends thee now ; — 
Where thou, O Christ ! with anguish spent, 

Forgave thy foes, and died. 
Thy garments yet are daily rent — 

Thy soul is crucified ! 



152 

They darken with the Christian name 

The light that from thee beamed, 
And by the hatred they proclaim 

Thy spirit is blasphemed ; 
Unto thine ear the prayers they send 

Were fit for Belial's reign, 
And Moslem ci meters defend 

The temple they profane. 

Who shall rebuild Jerusalem ? — 

Her scattered children bring 
From Earth's far ends, and gather them 

Beneath her sheltering wing ? 
For Judah's sceptre broken lies, 

And from his kingly stem 
No new Messiah shall arise 

For lost Jerusalem ! 

But let the wild ass on her hills 

Its foal unfrighted lead, 
And by the source of Kedron's rills • 

The desert adder breed : 
For where the love of Christ has made 

Its mansion in the heart. 
He builds in pomp that will not fade 

Her heavenly counterpart. 



153 

How long, Christ, shall men obscure 

Thy holy charity — 
How long the godless rites endure, 

Which they bestow on thee ? 
Thou, in whose soul of tenderness 

The Father's mercy shone. 
Who came, the sons of men to bless 

By Truth and Love alone. 

The suns of eighteen hundred years 

Have seen thy reign expand. 
And Morning, on her pathway, hears 

Thy name in every land ; 
But where thy sacred steps were sent 

The Father's will to bide, 
Thy garments yet are daily rent — 

Thy soul is crucified ! 



154 



THE VOYAGE OF A DREAM. 

There is a cloud below the mountain peak, 

Moored in the pauses of the uncertain air. 

Its fleecy folds piled idly, self-involved. 

Fashion the semblance of a floating throne, 

Torn, in the clash of airy anarchy, 

From the halls of Thunder ; haply, once surcharged 

With elementaLfire and threatening death — 

Fit seat for the Destroying Gods ! — but now 

Of ivory all compact, and touched with gold 

And opal radiance on its sunny hem. 

As if a peaceful Angel steered it down 

From empyreal heights, with folded wing 

Slow sinking through the yielding deeps. A throne 

It seems, where disembodied Thought may sit, 

Unquestioned take the sceptre of the world, 

And, exercising power anticipant, 

Go forth to try his lordship. 



155 



I accept 
The moment's offer, mount the seat sublime, 
And on the winds whose wings I feel no more. 
Because I move before them, boldly try 
The blue abyss whose measure no man knows. 
Straight down the mountain sinks ; the mountain pines 
Send a last drowning murmur faintly up 
The ingulfing air, then stand in moveless calm. 
Like coral forests rooted on the floors 
Of Ocean. Plummeted with all her sins, 
The Earth, down-sliding through the limpid sea, 
Bears far below, the noises of her broils — 
TJhe greeds, the struggles, the devouring cares. 
The endless agitations — leaving free 
To the enfranchised spirit the still fields 
Of amplest ether. Speed, my winged throne ! 
Wherever Thought may pilot, stretch thy flight. 
Higher than eagle dares, above the peaks 
Of Himalayan snow, o'er seas and sands, 
Through tropic green, or where the eternal ice 
Stiffens around the forehead of the Pole ! 
The World is mine ; the secrets of her heart 
Lie at my feet ; she cannot shut them out : 
And as she spins on her appointed round 
From daylight into dark, from dark to dawn. 
The mysteries of ages, problems which 



156 



A hundred centuries have left unsolved, 

Give one by one their answers. Yonder burst 

From the hot heart of Africa the springs 

Of waters that have rocked Egyptian gods, 

When the great stream that leaped in thunder down 

From Primnis and Syene's barrier, bore 

The chaplets and the consecrated oil 

To his own godship poured : — Beyond those hills, 

Whose tops against the Indian Caucasus 

Uplift their snowy helms, behold the vast 

Wind-driven platforms, whence the earliest Men 

Went with the streams to greener pasture-fields. 

And bore — their only heritage — God's name. 

The altars of his worship, and the truths 

Whose rude foundations underlie the piles 

Of states and sovereignties, upholding firm 

The masonry of Time : and whatsoe'er 

Of summer beauty in the virgin isles, 

Of lifeless grandeur in the emerald crags 

Of undissolving ice, was never yet 

By bold Adventure wrested from the keep 

Of savage Nature, gives its secret up, 

Helpless beneath the master-gaze of Thought, 

As that of God. 

Sweep downward, streams of air ! 
And thou, my cloudy chariot, drop thy shade 



157 



To roll, like dust, behind thy silent wheels, 

And draw round Earth the triumph of our march ! 

See where, from zone to zone, the shadow moves - 

A spot upon the Desert's golden glare — 

A deeper blue on the far-stretching plains 

Of Ocean's foamy azure — pausing now 

To cloak with purple gloom the shoulders bare 

Of mighty mountains, or ingulfed and lost 

Deep in their folded chasms, or sailing slow 

On wide savannas, the elyslan home 

Of flowery life, or quenching splendors vain 

That dance upon the gilded domes of men, 

And blind their eyes to the great light of Heaven. 

As in this rarer ether I surmount 

Life's numberless obstructions, and my gaze 

Takes in the whole expanded round of Earth, 

So, lifted o'er the narrow walks of Time, 

The weary years have dwindled to a point. 

And all their lessons compassed in the sphere 

Of one sole thought, as in the dew-drop lies 

The large orb of the morning sun. The years — 

The ages, that from their accretion grow — 

The cyclic eras — shrink, and all the Past 

Lies round and clear beneath me, swallowing up 

In one grand circumspect the separate lives. 

The individual links whereby our hearts 



158 



Walk slowly back the difficult paths of Time, 
Or climb some lesser eminence, to gain 
A forward look that dimly penetrates 
The nearest Future. Past and Future now 
Unite their worlds in equal counterpoise. 
And, effortless as dreams, the wisdom comes 
That reads the hidden issues of all life. 
The purpose of Creation. 

Mount no more, 
Thou flying cloud, but rather turn to dew 
And weep thyself upon the clover meads, 
And mix thy being with their honeyed bloom. 
Than float alone within the highest vault 
Of blue-cold ether, to dissolve alone 
Into the thin, unfriendly air. Come down ! 
Come down ! and let me quit this perilous height. 
This icy royalty of thought, to glide 
Nearer the homes of men, the embowered nests 
Of unaspiring, lowliest content, 
And joy, that from the beams of many hearts 
Gathers its radiant focus, like a star 
In the warm mists of Earth : nor yet enough 
To glide above, but drop me in the fields 
Or in the vales at evening, when from work 
Accomplished, rest the glowing limbs of Toil, 



159 



And men have time to love — and I will kiss 

The rugged cheek of Earth, with thankful tears 

For every throb of every human heart 

That welcomes me to share the general law, 

And bear the mutual burden. Man alone 

Creates Elysium for the soul of man. 

The ample Future, and the godlike reach 

Of new existence, are the prophecies 

Of humblest Love, and in the souls that love 

And are beloved the shining ether swims. 

Whereon exalted, we o'erlook the world. 

And Life, and Death, and every thing but Heaven. 



160 



L' ENVOI. 

Unto the Desert and the desert steed 

Farewell ! The journey is completed now : 

Struck are the tents of Ishmael's wandering breed, 
And 1 unwind the turban from my brow. 

The sun has ceased to shine ; the palms that bent, 
Inebriate with light, have disappeared ; 

And naught is left me of the Orient 

But the tanned bosom and the unshorn beard. 

Yet from that Hfe my blood a glow retains, 
As the red sunshine in the ruby glows ; 

These songs are echoes of its fiercer strains — 
Dreams, that recall its passion and repose. 



161 



I found, among those Children of the Sun, 
The cipher of my nature — the release 

Of baffled powers, which else had never won 
That free fulfilment, whose reward is peace. 

For not to any race or any clime 

Is the completed sphere of life revealed ; 

He who would make his own that round sublime, 
Must pitch his tent on many a distant field. 

Upon his home a dawning lustre beams. 
But through the world he walks to open day, 

Gathering from every land the prismal gleams, 
Which, when united, form the perfect ray. 

Go, therefore. Songs ! — which in the East were born 
And drew your nurture — from your sire's control : 

Haply to wander through the West forlorn. 
Or find a shelter in some Orient soul. 

And if the temper of our colder sky 

Less warmth of passion and of speech demands, 
They are the blossoms of my life — and I 

Have ripened in the suns of many lands. 
11 



II. 



(163) 



165 



HYMN TO AIR. 



The mightiest thou, among the Powers of Earth, 
The viewless Agent of the unseen God, 

What immemorial era saw thy birth ? 

What pathless fields of new Creation trod 

Thy noiseless feet ? Where was thy dwelling-place 
In the blind realm of Chaos, ere the word 
Of Sovereign Order by the stars was heard. 

Or the young planet knew her Maker's face ? 

No wrecks are hid in thine unfathomed sea ; 
Thy crystal tablets no inscription bear ; 

The awful Infinite is shrined in thee, 
Immeasurable Air ! 



1^6 



II. 



Thou art the Soul wherein the Earth renews 

The nobler life, that heals her primal scars ; 
Thine is the mantle of all-glorious hues, 

Which makes her beautiful among the stars ; 
Thine is the essence that informs her frame 

With manifold existence, thine the wing 

From gulfs of outer darkness sheltering, 
And from the Sun's uplifted sword of flame. 
She sleeps in thy protection, lives ui thee ; 

Thou mak'st the foreheads of her mountains smile ; 
His heart to thine, the all-surrounding Sea 

Spreads thy blue drapery o'er his cradled isle. 
Thou art the breath of Nature, and the tongue 

Unto her dumb material being granted, 

And by thy voice her sorrowing psalms are chanted — 
Her hymns of triumph sung ! 



III. 



Thine azure fountains nourish all that lives ; 
Forever drained, yet ever brimming o'er, 



167 



Their billows in eternal freshness pour, 
And from her choicest treasury Nature gives 
A glad repayment of the debt she owes, 

Replenishing thy sources : — balmy dews, 

That on thy breast their summer tears diffuse ; 
Strength from the pine, and sweetness from the rose ; 
The spice of gorgeous Ind, the scents that fill 

Ambrosial forests in the isles of palm ; 
Leagues of perennial bloom on every hill ; 

Lily and lotus in the water's calm ; 
And where the torrent leaps to take thy wing, 

But dashes out its life in diamond spray. 
Or multitudinous waves of ocean fling 

Their briny strength along thy rapid way — 
Escapes some virtue which from thee they hold : 

And even the grosser exhalations, fed 

From Earth's decay, Time's crowded charnel-bed. 
Fused in thy vast alembic, turn to gold. 



IV. 



Man is thy nursling, universal Air ! 

No kinder parent fosters him than thou : 
How soft thy fingers dally with his hair ! 

How sweet their pressure on his fevered brow ! 



168 



In the dark lanes where squalid Misery dwells, 
Where the fresh glories of existence shun 

The childhood nurtured in the city's hells, 
And eyes that never saw the morning sun. 

Pale cheeks for thee are pining, heavy sighs 

Drawn from the depth of weary hearts, arise — 

The flower of Life is withered on its stem, 

And the black shade the loathsome walls enclose 
Day after day more drear and stifling grows, 

Till Heaven itself seems forfeited to them ! 

What marvel, then, as from a fevered dream 
The dying wakes, to feel his forehead fanned 

By thy celestial freshness, he should deem 

The death-sweat dried beneath an angel's hand ? 

That tokens of the violet-sprinkled sod. 

Breathed like a blessing o'er his closing eyes, 
Should promise him the peace of Paradise — 
The pardon of his God ? 



What is the scenery of Earth to thine ? 

Here aU is fixed in everlasting shapes. 
But where the realms of gorgeous Cloudland shine, 

There stretch afar thy sun-illumined capes. 



169 



Embaying reaches of the amber seas 
Of sunset, on whose tranquil bosom lie 
The happy islands of the upper sky, 

The halcyon shores of thine Atlantides. 

Anon the airy headlands change, and drift 
Into sublimer forms, that slowly heave 
Their toppling masses up the front of eve, 

Crag heaped on crag, with many a fiery rift. 

And hoary summits, throned beyond the reach 
Of Alp or Caucasus : again they change, 
And down the vast, interminable range 

Of towers and palaces, transcending each 

The workmanship of Fable-Land, we see 

The " crystal hyaline" of Heaven's own floor 

The radiance of the far Eternity 

Reflected on thy shore ! 



VI. 



To the pure calm of thy cerulean deeps 
The jar of earth-born tumult cannot climb ; 

There ancient Silence her dominion keeps. 
Beyond the narrow boundaries of Time. 

The taint of Sin, the vapors of the world, 
The smokes of godless altars, hang below, 



170 



Staining thy marge, but not a cloud is curled 
Where those supernal tides of ether flow. 

What vistas ope from those serener plains ! 

What dawning splendors touch thine azure towers ! 
When some fair soul, whose path on Earth was ours 

The starry freedom of its wing regains. 

Shall it not linger for a moment there. 

One last divine regret to Earth returning, — 
One look, where Light ineffable is burning 
In Heaven's immortal Air ! 



VII. 



Thine are the treasuries of Hail and Snow ; 

Thy hand lets fall the Thunder's bolt of fire ; 
And when from out thy seething caldrons blow 

The vapors of the whirlwind, spire on spire 
In terrible convolution wreathed and blent, 

The unimagined strength that lay concealed 

Within thy quiet bosom is revealed 
To the racked Earth and trembling firmament. 
And thou dost hold, awaiting God's decree, 

The keys of all destruction : — in that hour 

When the Almighty Wrath shall loose thy power, 
Before thy breath shall disappear the sea, 



171 



To ashes turn the mountain's mighty frame, 
And as the seven-fold fervors wider roll, 
Thou, self-consuming, shrivel as a scroll. 

And wrap the world in one wide pall of flame ! 



172 



SONG. 

Now the days are brief and drear : 
Naked lies the new-born Year 
In his cradle of the snow, 
And the winds unbridled blow, 
And the skies hang dark and low — 
For the Summers come and go. 

Leave the clashing cymbals mute ! 
Pipe no more the happy flute ! 
Sing no more that dancing rhyme 
Of the rose's harvest-time — 
Sing a requiem, sad and low : 
For the Summers come and go. 

Where is Youth ? He strayed away 
Through the meadow-flowers of May. 



17^ 



Where is Love ? The leaves that fell 
From his trysting-bower, can tell. 
Wisdom stays, sedate and slow, 
And the Summers come and go. 

Yet a few more years to run, 
Wheeling round in gloom and sun ; 
Other raptures, other woes — 
Toil alternate with Repose : 
Then to sleep where daisies grow, 
While the Summers come and go 



174 



THE MYSTERY. 

Thou art not dead ; thou art not gone to dust ; 

No line of all thy loveliness shall fall 
To formless ruin, smote. by Time, and thrust 

Into the solemn gulf that covers all. 

Thou canst not wholly perish, though the sod 
Sink with its violets closer to thy breast ; 

Though by the feet of generations trod, 

The head-stone crumbles from thy place of rest. 

The marvel of thy beauty cannot die ; 

The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade ; 
Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye — 

Death may not keep what Death has never made. 



175 



It was not thine, that forehead strange and cold, 
Nor those dumb hps, they hid beneath the snow ; 

Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold, 
Thy hands for me that stony clasp forego. 

But thou hadst gone — gone from the dreary land, 
Gone from the storms let loose on every hill. 

Lured by the sweet persuasion of a hand 

Which leads thee somewhere in the distance still. 

Where'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet 
The same bewildering beauty, sanctified 

By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret 
For him who seeks, but cannot reach thy side. 

I keep for thee the living love of old. 
And seek thy place in Nature, as a child 

Whose hand is parted from his playmate's holdj 
Wanders and cries along a lonesome wild. 

When, in the watches of my heart, I hear 
The messages of purer life, and know 

The footsteps of thy spirit lingering near, 

The darkness hides the way that I should go. 



176 



Canst thou not bid the empty realms restore 
That form, the symbol of thy heavenly part ? 

Or on the fields of barren silence pour 

That voice, the perfect music of thy heart ? 

O once, once bending to these widowed lips, 
Take back the tender warmth of life from me, 

Or let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse 

The light of mine, and give me death with thee ! 



177 



A PICTURE. 

Sometimes, in sleeping dreams of night, 

Or waking dreams of day, 
The selfsame picture seeks my sight 

And will not fade away. 

I see a valley, cold and still, 

Beneath a leaden sky : 
The woods are leafless on the hill, 

The fields deserted lie. 

The gray November eve benumbs 
The damp and cheerless air; 

A wailing from the forest comes, 
As of the world's despair. 
12 



178 

But on the verge of night and storm, 

Far down the valley's line, 
I see the lustre, red and warm. 

Of cottage windows shine. 

And men are housed, and in their place, 

In snug and happy rest. 
Save one, who walks with weary pace 

The highway's frozen breast. 

His limbs, that tremble with the cold, 
Shrink from the coming storm ; 

But underneath his mantle's fold, 
His heart beats quick and warm. 

He hears the laugh of those who sit 

In Home's contented air ; 
He sees the busy shadows flit 

Across the window's glare. 

His heart is full of love unspent, 

His eyes are wet and dim ; 
For in those circles of content 

There is no room for him. 



179 

He clasps his hands and looks above ; 

He makes the bitter cry : 
" All, all are happy in their love — 

All are beloved but I ! " 

Across no threshold streams the light, 

Expectant, o'er his track ; 
No door is opened on the night, 

To bid him welcome back. 

There is no other man abroad 

In all the wintry vale. 
And lower upon his lonely road 

The darkness and the gale. 

I see him through the doleful shades 
Press onward, sad and slow. 

Till from my dream the picture fades. 
And from my heart the woe. 



180 



IN THE MEADOWS. 

I LIE in the summer meadows, 

In the meadows all alone, 
With the infinite sky above me 

And the sun on his mid-day throne. 

The smell of the flowering grasses 

Is sweeter than any rose, 
And a million happy insects 

Sing in the warm repose. 

The mother lark that is brooding 
Feels the sun on her wings, 

And the deeps of the noonday glitter 
With swarms of fairy things. 



181 

From the billowy green beneath me 
To the fathomless blue above, 

The creatures of God are happy 
In the warmth of their summer love. 

The infinite bliss of Nature 

I feel in every vein ; 
The light and the life of Summer 

Blossom in heart and brain. 

But darker than any shadow 
By thunder-clouds unfurled, 

The awful truth arises, 

That Death is in the world ! 

And the sky may beam as ever, 
And never a cloud be curled ; 

And the airs be living odors, 
But Death is in the world ! 

Out of the deeps of sunshine 
The invisible bolt is hurled : 

There's life in the summer meadows, 
But Death is in the world ! 



183 



SONNET. 

The soul goes forth and finds no resting place 

On the wide breast of Life's unquiet sea 

But in the heart of Man. The blazonry 
Of Wealth and Power fades out, and leaves no trace ; 
Renown's fresh laurels for awhile may grace 

The brow that wears them, but the dazzling tree 

Has canker in its heart ; Philosophy 
Is not Content, and Art's immortal face 

Is trenched with weary furrows : but the heart 
Hoards in its cells the satisfying dew 

Which all our thirst is powerless to exhaust. 
Let Life's uncertain dignities depart, 
And if one single manly heart be true. 

My own, contented, counts them cheaply lost. 



1S3 



THE WINTER SOLSTICE. 

O DARKEST day of all the year ! 

O day of Winter and of Death ! 
Thy reign is in the North, yet here, 

The Southern Ocean feels thy breath. 
Yon ruddy sun, that from the wave 

Climbs up his path in summer glow, 
Will light, ere long, a frozen grave, 

Too cold to melt its pall of snow. 

And I must find the sunshine pale, 

The tropic breezes chill and drear, 
For when the gray autumnal gale 

Came to despoil the dying year. 
Passed with the slow retreating sun. 

As day by day some beams depart, 
The beauty and the life of one. 

Whose love made summer in my heart. 



184 

Day after day, the latest flower, 

Her faded being waned away. 
More pale and dim with every hour — 

And ceased upon the darkest day ! 
The warmth and glow that with her died 

No light of coming suns shall bring ; 
The heart its wintry gloom may hide, 

But cannot feel a second Spring. 

O darkest day of all the year ! 

In vain thou com'st with balmy skies, 
For, blotting out their azure sphere, 

The phantoms of my Fate arise : 
A blighted life, whose shattered plan 

No after fortune can restore ; 
The perfect lot, designed for Man, 

That should be mine, but is no more. 

She was the sun, that rose above 

The landscape of the life I dreamed. 
And through the portals of her love 

The promise of my Future beamed. 
Though buried long, those dreams arise 

To mock me wheresoe'er I roam — 
The happy light of household eyes. 

The blessing and the peace of Home. 



185 

And I behold the changing fire 

Of alien heavens increase and pale 
On many a sunbeam-gilded spire 

And many a moonlight-silvered sail : 
The pomp and glory of the lands, 

The range of Earth, is given to me ; 
But every touch of loving hands 

Recalls my blighted destiny. 



186 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 

I WOULD be left alone — with none but you, 

The last, sole friend, where all have fallen off 

Like summer birds, and left your nest alone 

Amidst the withered foliage of my heart. 

Give me your hand : your soul will walk with mine 

Into the shadows, far as life may go 

Within the porch of Death, and send its cry 

Of faithful love across the mighty gulf. 

When we are forced asunder. 

Nay, Priest ! nay : 
Stand not between me and the fading light 
Of my last hour. I know my soul is weighed 
With many sins — the pages of my life 
Soiled with unworthy records ; that I go 
Redder than scarlet to the awful bar 
Where God shall judge me : but even, knowing this, 
And stung with wild, unutterable woe. 



187 



As the lost chances of my life arise, 

With all their opportunities of good 

Deepening the blackness of the evil choice, 

I will not lean upon another's arm, 

Or lift my soul upon another's prayer, 

Or bid a human intercessor plead 

My perilous cause ; but I will stagger on, 

Beneath my sins, unto the feet of God, 

For, were the crushing burden tenfold great, 

He sees the secret heart which they obscure 

And not withholds His mercy. He is just, 

And I am sick of human justice. I 

Will go to Him, who sent me on the earth 

Wisely, though I have trampled on His gifts ; 

In love, though I have tasted most of pain ; 

And justly, though the monstrous wrongs that men 

Perpetuate in His name have borne me down 

Beyond all virtue, but my faith in Him. 

Go, Priest ! the absolution which I seek 

No prayer of yours can purchase : I have gone 

Beyond your reach already, and the last 

Weak props of life one after one give way. 

O father — father ! In what fatal school 
Learned you the iron creed that drove your child. 
Sore with the scourging of its rigid laws. 



188 



To the alluring license of the world ? 

Why did you crush the healthy joys that craved 

Growth in a liberal air, the motions free 

That leap along the bounding pulse of Youth 

And pluck delight in the fresh fields of Time, 

Building your stern religion round the dreams 

That fill, self-born, the morning sleep of Life, 

And give us courage for its day of toil ? 

Had you not hedged each simple joy with sin, 

And from the guileless blooms of Nature driven 

My steps, to falter on your arid wastes 

Of harshest duty, I had never looked 

To Sin for joy, nor plunged amid the rank. 

Dense overgrowths of Pleasure, which conceal 

Her soundless quicksands : had you turned the tide 

Of warm, impetuous blood, that beat so strong 

In every vein, to mingle with the streams 

Of manly action, I had spent its force 

In watering many a pleasant field of life 

With fertilizing increase ; but you set 

Your unrelenting dogmas in its path. 

Locked the dark barrier with a cruel hand, 

And thought the fierce rebellion you provoked 

By tyranny against my nature's law. 

The evidence of Hell ! The buttressed walls 

You built to stay me madly burst away, 



189 



And like a captive by recovered light 
Blinded, and in the long-lost airs of Heaven 
Reeling inebriate, I was tossed along 
Upon a flood I knew not how to stem, 
Through the wide sea of desolating years, 
Until the flying wreck on which you hurled 
Your stern anathemas, is thrown at last, 
A heap of ruin, on the barren shores 
Where the world's outcasts take their bitter leave 
Of the cold world's injustice. 

Wholly lost 
Not then was I, O father ! had you shown 
The awful pathos of a father's grief. 
Or dropped one word that spoke a father's love, 
Bursting, as from a heart at lava-glow. 
Through the cold wrath that made you adamant, 
In that brief time, when loathingly I turned 
From the palled company of Vice, to throw 
My heart, repentant, at the feet of one 
Who might have lifted me from out the deeps, 
And set my feet upon the steady paths 
I labored to recover. But, when you, 
My father, spurned and drove me back to sin, 
You snapped the feeble chain to which I clung, 
And she, and you, and all the blinded world — 



190 



. God, how blind ! — you saw me fall, and fall, 
And loosed my frantic clutch from every prop 
Until the floods above my head were rolled 
So deep, I bade farewell to light and took 
My portion with the darkness. You have passed 
To other life already : I will think 
You did but deal with me as you were taught 
By heartless laws of Sect, which you mistook 
For Heaven's commandments. In this solemn hour 
Death washes out the bitterness that filled 
The Past, and I forgive : — God ! that a son 
Should ever have such need ! 

She, whom I found 
Amid those dreary haunts where brazen Sin 
Laughed o'er her fall from virtue — she, whose love, 
Her only weakness, to the brink betrayed 
Where one blind step condemns to endless woe — 
She was not false : she threw before my feet 
Her bruised and trampled heart, and from the wrecks 
Of outraged tenderness built up anew 
The shrine of Love, the saddened counterfeit 
Of that, which from the bowers of innocent hearts 
Sends the pure incense of its perfect joy 
To God's high throne. She clung to me with truth 
That might have cleansed her from the stains of shame, 



191 



Were Man less cruel. Hunted, driven to bay 
By persecution and by keenest want, 
She spurned the tempters who would blight the last 
Pale flower, that in her ravaged fields of life 
Recalled the happy days when she was pure. 
Rest thee, thou weary spirit ! Were there tears 
In the cold eyes of men, thy touching faith 
Should draw them forth, and gentlest Charity, 
Veiling thy frailties, leave thy memory white 
With the redemption of that saving love ! 

You, too, my friend — (still keep my hand in yours, 
For we are nigh the parting) — you were true. 
Faithful where all were faithless. In the dark 
Which filled the chambers of my soul, you saw 
The wreck of manliness that might have been, 
Capacities for love which never came. 
And the deserted shrines whence Faith had fled : 
But you alike had sufiered from the laws 
That wrought such devastation ; you had felt 
In sufiering, the kind regard of Heaven, 
And all the guilty records of my life 
Knit you the closer, till your love became 
The agent of God's pity. I will think 
He shall not wholly cast me ofi", nor doom 
My soul to endless company with sins 
1 loathed while I committed : that, if He 



192 



Shut His bright Heaven against me, there may be 
Among his myriad worlds some lonely place, 
Though far remote, within the radiant sphere 
His glory blesses, where she waits for me, 
And you will join us in a little while. 
He gave us to each other : will He now 
Break the sweet links whereby we felt our hearts 
First drawn to Him ? He, the All-Merciful, 
Who not deserted us when men forsook. 
And loved when they despised us, will not judge 
Too harshly, when our naked souls go up 
To meet His awful presence. 



I am chill. 
And the room darkens : let me feel your hand 
Here, where my heart beats feebly. Friend — dear 

friend ! 
Kiss me upon the cheek, before it grows 
Too cold, and lift my head upon your breast. 
Tears on my face ? The scalding tears of man, 
Not lightly shattered from their iron cells. 
Shed thus for me ? It sweetens Death, to know 
Such rain as this will consecrate my dust. 



193 



SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA. 

Come, messmates, fill the cheerful bowl ! 

To-night let no one fail. 
No matter how the billows roll. 

Or roars the ocean gale. 
There's toil and danger in our lives, 

But let us jovial be. 
And drink to sweethearts and to wives, 

On Saturday night at sea ! 

The chill nor'wester hurls the spray 

Our icy bulwarks o'er, 
As swift we cleave our stormy way, 

A thousand miles from shore ; 
And while the good ship onward drives. 

Let none forget that he 
Must drink to sweethearts and to wives. 

On Saturday night at sea ! 
13 



194 

The joys that landsmen little reck 

We best can understand, 
Who live a year upon the deck, 

A month upon the land. 
And rough as are our sailor lives, 

Full tender hearts have we 
To drink to sweethearts and to wives, 

On Saturday night at sea ! 

Our frames are worn and little worth, 

And hard our rugged hands ; 
We struggle for our hold on Earth 

With the storms of many lands : 
'But the only love that lights our lives 

Shall still remembered be ; 
We drink to sweethearts and to wives, 

On Saturday night at sea ! 



195 



SONG. 

They call thee false as thou art fair, 

They call thee fair and free — 
A creature pliant as the air 

And changeful as the sea : 
But I, who gaze with other eyes — 

Who stand and watch afar, 
Behold thee pure as yonder skies 

And steadfast as a star ! 

Thine is a rarer nature, born 

To rule the common crowd. 
And thou dost lightly laugh to scorn 

The hearts before thee bowed. 
Thou dreamest of a different love 

Than comes to such as these ; 
That soars as high as heaven above 

Their shallow sympathies. 



196 

A star that shines with flickering spark, 

Thou dost not wane away, 
But shed'st adown the purple dark 

The fulness of thy ray : 
A rose, whose odors freely part 

At every zephyr's will, 
Thou keep'st within thy folded heart 

Its virgin sweetness still ! 



197 



THE MTO-WATCH. 

I PACE the deck in the dead of night, 

When the moon and starlight fail, 
And the cordage creaks to the lazy swells, 

And heavily flaps the sail. 
On the darkness glimmers the binnacle-lamp 

With feeble and lonely spell : 
No sound but the passing sentry's tramp 

Or his measured cry : " All's well ! " 

To and fro, with accustomed step, 

I walk in the night alone. 
And I think of a thousand watches kept 

In the years forever flown ; 
Of the friends in whose manly fellowship 

I labored long ago, 
Till Death relieved their watch on earth. 

And they went to rest below. 



198 

1 think of the gallant ones who died 

When our broadsides shook the sea, 
And sorrow for them subdued the pride 

Of our cheers of victory : 
Of those who fell in the fevered lands, 

Or sank in the whelming wave — 
Whose corpses waste on the barren sands, 

Or float in a fathomless grave. 

And the looks revive that were faint and dim 

In the shadows of the years. 
And I scan them o'er till my eyelids swim 

With the strange delight of tears : 
They people the dark with their pallid brows 

As they silently throng around. 
And the sea its phosphor radiance throws 

On the faces of the drowned. 

So many a noble heart is cold 

That shared my duties then, 
I have looked full oft in the face of Death, 

But he comes to better men ; 
And let him come in his chosen time, 

Some friend will think of me. 
And I shall live in the lonely hours 

Of his midnight watch at sea. 



199 



THE PHANTOM. 

Again I sit within the mansion, 

In the old, familiar seat ; 
And shade and sunshine chase each other 

O'er the carpet at my feet. 

But the sweet-brier's arms have wrestled upwards 

In the summers that are past, 
And the willow trails its branches lower 

Than when I saw them last. 

They' strive to shut the sunshine wholly 

From out the haunted room ; 
To fill the house, that once was joyful, 

With silence and with gloom. 



200 

And many kind, remembered faces 
Within the doorway come — 

Voices, that wake the sweeter music 
Of one that now is dumb. 



They sing, in tones as glad as ever, 
The songs she loved to hear ; 

They braid the rose in summer garlands, 
Whose flowers to her were dear. 



And still, her footsteps in the passage, 

Her blushes at the door. 
Her timid words of maiden welcome. 

Come back to me once more. 

And, all forgetful of my sorrow. 

Unmindful of my pain, 
I think she has but newly left me, 

And soon will come again. 

She stays without, perchance, a moment, 
To dress her dark-brown hair ; 

I hear the rustle of her garments — 
Her light step on the stair ! 



201 

O, fluttering heart ! control thy tumult, 

Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 

Her coming brings to me ! 

She tarries long : but lo ! a whisper 

Beyond the open door, 
And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 

A shadow on the floor ! 

Ah ! 'tis the whispering pine that calls me. 
The vine, whose shadow strays ; 

And my patient heart must still await her, 
Nor chide her long delays. 

But my heart grows sick with weary waiting. 

As many a time before : 
Her foot is ever at the threshold, 

Yet never passes o'er. 



202 



LAMENT AND CONSOLATION. 

False, fleeting Youth, ah ! whither fled 

Thy golden promise ? 
Thy joy is past, thy love is dead, 
And every arrowy hope we sped 

Falls distant from us. 

Ah, where the wondrous alchemy 
Thy steps that haunted > 

The happy airs of Arcady 

That fanned thy brow, the fancy free, 
The faith undaunted ? 

The glories caught from Nature die. 

And men deceive me ; 
Star after star goes down the sky, 
And darker, sadder hours are nigh. 
If Sons; should leave me. 



203 

For Song can still the living light 

Of Memory borrow, 
With faded dawns to flush the night, 
And hide with gleams of old delight 

The present sorrow. 

Let Faith and Love and Hope depart, 

Since Fate so wills it : 
Some foliage yet may shade the heart, 
And blossom in the beams of Art, 
Whose presence fills it. 

On thee, dear Song ! the loss I cast, 

Beyond redressing : 
Let gone be gone, and past be past, 
But, Angel ! I will hold thee fast, 

And force thy blessing ! 



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